


Captured Hearts

by yaoigirl22



Category: The Musketeers (2014), d'Artagnan Romances (Three Musketeers Series) - All Media Types
Genre: Abuse, Alternate Universe, M/M, Multi, Slave Trader Bonnaire, Slave Trader Labarge, Slavery, Whipping
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-05-26
Updated: 2017-02-17
Packaged: 2018-01-26 13:29:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 8
Words: 23,419
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1690025
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yaoigirl22/pseuds/yaoigirl22
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>During a raid of an illegal slave trade, Aramis and Athos find two slaves named Porthos and D’Artagnan.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is a fill of a prompt from : http://bbcmusketeerskink.dreamwidth.org/1213.html?thread=1629117#cmt1629117
> 
> D'Artgnan is fifteen in this fic

They came during the winter, when few would question the disappearance of others, the iron door slams open and chains rattle as they’re brought in, one by one they are unshackled and pushed into a cell. He’s surprised when his door opens, even more surprised when a body is thrown in.

The child is small and thin, his whole body shakes, dark eyes red and wet, stare frightfully at the shadows not knowing it would be the least of his worries, a crack of a whip and screaming had the child jumping and whimpering.

He could be no more than five years of age.

A babe in the jaws of Hell, and the Devil’s hand around his neck.

“Enjoy your new cellmates” says the Slave Master, his laughter bouncing off the dirty walls as he leaves.

When the Slave Master’s echoing footsteps fade away and the iron door closes with a slam does he stand from his corner, chains jingling as he moves towards the child curious, he doesn’t know why they decided to put this child in here with him, he, unlike the others, is confined to solitaire.

The child shuffles back until his back hits the bars, trapped large dark eyes stare frightful up at him. He couches down so he doesn’t tower over the boy, he leans and takes a sniff, he is greeted with a smell he recognized as something earthly, it is a surprisingly comforting scent.

“Hello” he says, voice raspy from disuse, ignoring the crying and pleas coming from the other cells, soon they will learn that tears are best left unshed and pleas will remain unanswered (if they’re lucky).

“What’s your name?” he asks.

“D-D-D’Artagnan” comes the response, voice low and frightened.

“I’m Porthos” he says, and tries for a smile, judging from D’Artagnan’s look he doesn’t succeed.

“Where’s my Mama and Papa?” comes the question, and Porthos does not hesitant in answering.

“Dead” he says empathy having been lost to him long ago.

The child cries and cries until his tears are all dried up and he’s curled up in the corner asleep, body demanding rest. In the other corner, Porthos sits and stares at the child.

If he is lucky, the child will not survive the winter, but Porthos knows there is no luck, no luck or hope. For now, the child is too young, (though it will not be a problem if a buyer with a big sack of money and a taste for the young comes along) though that does not make him safe. D’Artagnan shivers, and Porthos takes the thin dirty blanket and wraps it around the child before lifting him in his arms and onto his lap.

In the dark, Porthos makes a promise.

**10 years later**

He’s surrounded by screaming, yelling, and nameless faces; he cares not for them but for his opponent. His opponent towers him with his impressive height, body stacked with muscles and murder in his eyes.

 _“This should be fun”_ he thinks sarcastically as the man circles him.

His opponent lunges at him; the large man is slow in movement, depending on his strength to take down his opponents, he decides to use that to his advantage as he spins out the way. A punch is thrown his way, he grabs the fist before it hits his face and quickly delivers one of his own, hitting his opponents’ below his breastbone. The large man wheezes and doubles over, he grabs the man by the hair and punches him in the face, again and again.

The nameless faces, scream and yell louder.

With a grunt the large man breaks free, tearing his hair in the process, surprised he is unable to dodge when the man tackles him to the ground, a thick arm wrap around his neck and squeezes, with a growl he bites down hard breaking skin, his opponent yells and his hold goes lacks. Using the opening his knees the man hitting him in the groin, with his opponent whimpering in pain, he rolls them over until he is straddling the man and his hands are around his neck squeezing.

The man struggles to break free, but he is unrelenting, and only let’s go when the man is no longer breathing.

Getting off of the now dead body, he looks around him, the nameless faces have gone quiet. He cares not from them as his dark eyes fix themselves on one man among them, his Slave Master, who frowns at him. Never looking away as he was grabbed, shackled, and taken away to a back room.

No sooner does the door closes does it reopen and his Slave Master comes in along with another Slave Master who is not happy.

“No” says the angry Master.

“Now, now, no need to dismiss so quickly, you saw how well he did out there”

“He killed my fighter!” snaps the Slave Master, “my prized fighter”

“Well these things happen” Bonnaire says with a small smile, “and now I’m giving you a new one, at a price of course”

The Slave Master takes in the other’s smile he knows is mostly business then at the slave standing quietly bruised and bleeding; he goes over to the slave. He grabs the slave’s jaw and forces his mouth open; he found good strong, and healthy teeth. Skin is tight with youth, covered in scars and muscles that after today he knows the Slave knew how to use them, and while his wasn’t a tall as his previous fighter his height was still impressive towering over everyone in the room even the guards that where flanking him. The Slave’s back is practically covered in whip lases, going back to the front, he looked at the Slave’s eyes; they were dark and had a feral look to them.

“No” the Slave Master then says to Bonnaire, “he’s too wild”

“But—”

“I said no!”

Bonnaire closes his mouth, he blinks before sighing.

“Alright” he agrees before placing on his smile again, “how about a different one? Lower in price but sure to give your audience a good show, I’ll even throw in another for your personal pleasure”

Moments later, both Slave and Master leave the room, with two other men, and Bonnaire’s purse heavier.

When they arrive at the large blue tent, Labarge, the other Slave Master and Bonnaire’s business partner was waiting at the entrance.

“Couldn’t sell it” Labarge stated when saw the slave, eyes narrowing in suspicion when he saw the two men standing impatiently behind Bonnaire.

“Afraid not, but Porthos here did win me a rather large amount of money from the fight and I was able to convince our dear friend to buy two slaves. These fine gentlemen are here to pick up their Master’s purchases”

With a look to the two other men by the tent, they and Bonnaire escorted the other men into the tent, Labarge grabs holds of the chain that was attached to the shackle around Porthos’s neck and roughly tugs.

“Come on, back in the cage”

Porthos walks, when they get to his cage he’s pushed in, the moment Labarge leaves, gentle hands take hold of his. Fingers caressed the bruising there, darks eyes looked up into his, worry in them. Those same hands reach up and cradle his face; Porthos’s nuzzles into those hands before taking them into his own bigger ones, and leads the other to the back of the cage. He sits down bringing the other with him, the other Slave lets himself be moved until he was settled between the other’s legs, and large arms wrapped themselves around his waist; and a nose pressed itself against the skin of his neck.

Porthos takes a deep breathe, and the earthly scent that has remain throughout the years relaxes his body, he gives a pleased hum when the small body leans back against his chest. Neither move until the tent’s entrance flaps opens hours later.

Porthos tenses, arms tightening and lips lifting into a snarl when Bonnaire along with a guard stops in front of their cage.

“Why must you always give me that look Porthos?” Bonnaire sighs as the guard slides in two bowls of stew; one having more portions then the other, along with two loafs of bread. “It won’t do you or D’Artagnan any good in the long run” he continues on.

Neither Porthos nor D’Artagnan moves towards the food, unlike the other Slaves who scramble for their food.

“Still don’t see why you bother talking to it, or even giving it more portions” grumbles Labarge as he enters.

“Better quality, better sales” Bonnaire sighs to his partner, “I’ve been telling you this for years, why have you not gotten the understanding of this? As for the extra portions, it’s his reward for winning the fight as our agreement isn’t that right Porthos”

The slave growled.

Chuckling Bonnaire moved away towards his business partner, it was only until it was just the slaves and the cages did Porthos gently remove D’Artagnan from his lap, and towards the food. He tosses the bread to the younger before taking the two bowls and moving back to D’Artagnan.

One loaf of bread was split between them, while the other was hidden for when there are days they had to go without food, the stew (which consisted of vegetable and unwanted meats given to the Slave Masters by butchers) was eaten, Porthos giving half of his to D’Artagnan.

**10 Years Ago**

Labarge is a cruel Slave Master, deprived of any kind human kindness; the slaves in his care live in content fear.

Even his men are weary of him.

Emile Bonnaire is an explorer, but mostly a business man, his fast talking and easy-going nature had made many fall under his spell.

So though it was strange, it wasn’t to surprising when the two began a partnership, and it seems to work. Bonnaire handles the sales, while Labarge handles the merchandise, collecting and breaking in new slaves. As for the reasons why, the two were silent though many knew it was mostly money for Labarge.

“He’s rather small, are you sure he’s the age of five?” Bonniare ask as he stares at the sleeping child curled up in Porthos’s lap, the other slave, snarling at the two, “Porthos seems to like him” he then notes.

“That surprised us too, thought the mutt would have killed him last night or eaten him” Labarge says behind him, “hadn’t fed him in about three weeks”

“Labarge” Bonnaire sighs a long suffering sigh as he turns to the other man, “how many times do I have to tell you, I don’t mind you beating them, bruises with fade. I’ll even let the occasional whipping slip by; I’ll even turn a blind eye to you and your men ‘tasting’ some of the product”

Here Labarge grins and Porthos snarls, chains rattling as he moves closer to the wall.

“He broke one of my men’s leg” the cruel Master then complains.

“It’ll heal; let me finish, now as I was saying. I’ll even allow the occasional missed meal as punishment, but I will not allow complete starvation, healthy looking slaves means more money, and I know how you love your money”

The greed in the man’s eyes told the other that he hit the mark, even before the large man nods.

“I’m glad we’ve come to an agreement, now feed him and the boy”

Labarge grunts, before yelling over one of his man at the door to bring food, then watches as Bonnaire takes out a roll of keys, “what’s he’s name?” the man asks as he searches for the right key.

Labarge shrugs never understanding his partner’s strange quirk for knowing the slaves names, rolling his eyes but not surprised by the answer, Bonnaire finally finds the right key and opens the cell door. The moment he steps in,he pauses as Porthos growls at him.

The slave (eighteen years of age now) had always been wild, ever since Labarge brought him in six years ago, always unpredictable. He even hurt a couple of slaves, which was why he was alone instead of two or three like the others. No matter what Labarge does to him, he still won’t break.

The slave was a fighter.

Bonnaire couldn’t wait to see what he does in the fighting ring tomorrow night, though he prefer to see it with his body parts intact.

“Don’t even think about it mutt” Labarge threatens one hand fingering the whip attached to his hip.

Porthos eyes it, he looks down at the child’s in his lap blissful unaware of the danger, he removes the child from his lap, awakening him.

“Good boy” Bonnaire says and moves closer.

Sitting up and rubbing the sleep from his eyes, it takes the child a moment to notice Bonnaire, when he does he shrinks back and shuffle closer to Porthos, who watches.

“Hey now, no need for that” the Slave Master says with a smile.

Porthos has seen that smile numerous of times when the man was trying to make a sell.

The child gives him a weary look.

“My name is Bonnaire, what’s yours?”

“…..D’Artagnan” comes the hesitant answer.

It was then that D’Artagnan notices the other Master and whimpers.

“Don’t worry about him, he won’t hurt you”

No one blamed the child for the look he gives the man for that statement.

“He won’t hurt you” Bonnaire continues, “but only if you do what your told, if you do that, no harm will come to you, I promise.”

Labarge was a cruel man, a cruel Master, but Emile Bonnaire was crueler.

**Present**

The underground slave trade had been formed not long after King Louis XIII took the throne and outlawed slavery in France, it was a complicated system and one had to go through many channels just to get to an location alone.

“We’re currently stationed on the outskirts of France’s territory, once we cross the border my men will be waiting to lead us through the route into Paris undetected and to our base of operation for the next couple of weeks” Bonnaire says as he looks over the map spread out on the table.

“I still say it’s too risky” Labarge grumbles in his cup of wine, “we’ll be hanged if we get caught”

“We won’t” Bonniare reassures, eyes still on the map.

When morning came, everything was packed up and they headed for Paris.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Glad you enjoyed the first chapter!

 

It was days after D’Artagnan was thrown into his cell when the iron door opened, Porthos eyes instantly opened, asleep in his arms the child shifted in his arms but didn’t wake.

“All of them are to be shackled and taken to the yard” says Labarge, “even the mutt and boy”

Footsteps echoed, as they drew closer Porthos woke D’Artagnan and placed the yawning child on his feet, the older Slave stood just as the cell door opened, and three guards came in, two of them with whips in their hands while the other held shackles. Porthos already shackled remained still (ignoring the other guards ordering him to move) and watched as shackles where placed onto D’Artagnan, he felt his lips twitched as the guard stared dumbfounded at the shackles that were too large iron for the thin wrists.

“Um, boss” called the guard.

Labarge came over, when he saw the problem he raised a brow, “I doubt he’ll give us any trouble” the Slave Master then said.

Once all the slaves were shackled and taken out their cells (with D’Artagnan pretty much attached to his leg), they were lined up in a straight line and then chained, before being led out into what Labarge and the men called the yard, which consisted of nothing more than dirt, the hot sun depending on the season and a wooden post, chained to the post face front was a female slave.

“This slave” Labarge said standing in front of the assembled slaves, a cruel glint in his eyes “has been disobedient; disobedience will not be tolerated and as such must be punished”

With whip in hand, the Slave Master went over to the trembling woman.

The crack of the whip hitting flesh the new slaves jump, but what made them shiver was the scream the female let out, the second time Labarge brought the whip down again the new slaves looked away, D’Artagnan didn’t, his dark eyes watched as the Slave Master whipped the woman, watched as blood spilt and stained the ground.

Porthos watched, body tensed as he remembered his own first punishment, remembered the sharp burning pain, the smell of blood, screaming.

It was the silence that brought him out of haunting thoughts; he looked at the post to see the slave slumped over it, Labarge was now standing back in front of the row of slaves, whip in hand; there was blood on both it and him.

“I hope the lesson has been learned” the Slave Master says.

He then leaves them standing with the slave and the cold winter air, Porthos looks away from the slave chained to the post, to the others. Many of the new slaves looked pale, eyes dimmed with the starting realization that they were not going to be freed, the older slaves merely stared ahead eyes blank. Looking down at the small body trembling more with fear then cold clinging to his body he concluded that the lesson was indeed learned.

**Present**

At first it was merely a whisper of a rumor, spoken in hushed voices between those of the questionable nature; soon that rumor grew and grew until it was no longer a rumor.

There are Slave Traders in Paris.

“The rumor about the Slave Traders had been confirmed to be true, the King and Queen are not happy, and wants this situation dealt with as quickly as possible” Caption Treville said, looking at his two best that stood before the desk he was sitting behind.

“So the plan?” asked Aramis.

“I was able to find out that one of the Slave Traders is entering one of his slaves in an Underground fighting ring two days from now, if we can find and follow him, we can find the location of the hideout and take them down” Treville says.

The Underground fighting ring in Paris was similar to the Court of Miracles in the sense that it was known, but unlike the Court of Miracles the King was in no hurry to get rid of the Underground fighting ring, the King figured it was best if the people had some kind of outlet rather than start an uprising. Occasionally there would be a Slave fighter, but it was rare and so the King didn’t bother with it as it was hard to identify which ones were slaves and which ones voluntarily entered the ring.

“Do we have a name to go with the Slave Trader?” Athos asked.

“Bonnaire, Emile Bonnaire”

After they were dismissed for the rest of the day, with instructions to return to the Captain’s office two days from now, the two headed to the home they shared. It was a two story house with three bedrooms that Athos had brought; when he had brought the house he had been desperate for a change after his wife and really had just brought the first house that had been for sell. Aramis moving in had been just weeks after Savoy, and Athos not liking that his brother was alone at night.

Neither talked about those times, just as they do not talk about Athos’s drinking or Aramis nightmares.

“Looks like Constance came by and cleaned again” Aramis remarked taking notice of the newly clean house.

Athos went into the kitchen and found fresh bread, in the fireplace was their black pot, removing the lid reveals a hot stew.

“Madame Bonacieux is an Angel sent from Heaven” Aramis sighed blissfully as he took a deep sniff.

Athos gives his not quite smile as he heads for the wine, by the time Aramis placed a bowl of stew and bread next to him Athos had downed three cups of wine, the two ate in silence. After eating Aramis left the kitchen, he came back with a book in hand, Athos had put away the dishes and resumed his drinking, Aramis sat next to him, opened his book and read.

Late into the night Aramis dragged Athos upstairs, ignoring the drunken ramblings from the other man, once in the room Aramis dumped the man on his bed, he took off the others shoes before turning to leave.

A warm hand takes hold of his.

Looking at the owner of said hand Aramis is met with pleading eyes, asking him to stay, to not leave him alone. Gently removing the other’s hand, Aramis removes his own shoes before getting into bed, the moment he is settled; a warm body wraps itself around him.

It’s just another thing they don’t talk about.

**9 years ago**

It is winter once again when they are dragged out and lined up to be inspected, Labarge and his men move up and down the line, roughly probing the slaves, looking for any abnormalities . Two of the slaves are found with a fever and taken away, Porthos knows from experience that the two will be taken to another space locked up and fed draughts until they were well again, if not then Labarge will put them down.

Once the inspection was over they were put back in the cage.

Expect for Porthos.

Porthos is taken out to the yard, Labarge’s men are waiting forming a circle, and the slave is pushed into the middle.

He was fighting today.

Porthos stands still as one of Labarge’s men; a man equaled to the slave’s size emerges from the crowd knuckles cracking and an eager grin.

“Have fun boys” Labarge says.

Porthos knows better than to put up a big fight, and beating any of Labarge’s men would result in punishment, he knows these things, learnt through pain.

He still fights back, and he still beats each opponent.

Looking away from downed man that he had beaten (embarrassingly) into submission to Labarge, the Slave Master’s eyes are dark with rage, the grip on the whip’s handle as he moves towards Porthos (who is grabbed and forced on his knees) is so tight the slave was surprised it wasn’t broken. Labarge raises the whip, ready to unleash his anger but then he pauses as though a thought came to him, he looks at Porthos studying him before; to the shock of everyone, he orders the slave back to his cell.

When he’s pushed back into the cell (shackled and chained) and sitting down back pressed against the wall D’Artagnan is immediately at his side, looking worriedly at him, Porthos places the child in his lap. As D’Artagnan cuddles up against his chest gently touching a forming bruise, Porthos wonders what just happened.

He got his answer the next day.

He was up the moment the metal door opened, D’Artagnan pressed close to his side, their cell door is opened. Porthos readies himself to be taken only to blink when the two guards went pass him and take D’Artagnan; the child looks back at Porthos as he taken out the cell, eyes fearful and pleading. He hadn’t realize he was moving until he hit the now closed door, his dark eyes watch them leave, heart pounding. When the metal door closes he starts to pace, the other slaves watch him; the older ones have never seen him in such a state.

Finally with what felt like years had gone by the metal door opens again, and D’Artagnan is returned to him.

The child is trembling; his body is bruised from head to toe.

Porthos slowly sinks to his knees; his rough hands are gentle as they come up to cradle the bruised cheeks, the boy cries, flowing tears full of fear and confusion. Shaking from voice to body, Porthos gently shushes the child.

“Don’t cry” he says quietly, “don’t cry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry”

The next time he is taken from his cell and pushed into the circle of men.

He doesn’t fight back.

**Present**

They travel through tunnels that run from the castle and the city walls, until they come to a marked door, Athos knocks, for a moment nothing happens then the door creaks open, and the two disguised Musketeers find themselves looking at an eyeball.

“Password?” says the eyeball.

“Never look away from the watching Angel” answers Aramis.

The door slams shut then reopens.

“Enjoy the fight”

“Thank you” Aramis says as he follows his partner through the door.

The two walk down the tunnel lit by torches, as they go deeper voices start to echo around them when they finally come to an opening even Athos is impressed with the sight. The room was designed just like the dueling tournament the King had when it fit his fancy, the wooden benches circled around the large ring where the Fighters would put on their show. The place was packed with men, some with their women, others with drinks all eager to see a fight and hopefully leave with more money than they came with.

“Found our man” Aramis whispers to Athos when they take their seats, “across from us to the right”

Athos looks in the direction Aramis indicated, their target is easy to find thanks to having to have seen a recent picture of the man and the fact that Emile Bonniare apparently liked to draw attention to himself via clothing.

“He looks more like a businessman then a Slave Trader” Athos comments

Aramis shrugs just as the fight begins, the crowd roars as the first Fighter steps into the ring, a dark skinned man with an impressive scar on his leg, he is bare chested showing of his chest that while muscular was starting to show age, in his hand was a knife. The next Fighter steps in, and the crowd’s roar gets louder, the man was dark skinned, younger and huge. He was also bared chested and stacked with muscles, unlike his opponent who only had one scar he was nearly covered in them and was weaponless though he didn’t seem bothered by it; in fact he seemed almost bored really.

Aramis gives an impressive whistle.

The two Fighters stare at each other, until the older grins (sadistic and murderous) and lunges at his opponent. The other fighter dodges the knife aimed at him, and punches the other; the older Fighter doesn’t even stumbles.

“The younger one” Athos says as he watches, “he knows how to use his speed and strength”

“And not afraid to fight dirty either” Aramis chuckles when the younger knees his opponent in the groin.

“I believe that’s a given considering”

“Right”

The screaming crowd if possible becoming louder when the older Fighter cuts the younger’s arm with his knife, it’s not a deadly cut but it draws blood all the same and that excites the audience. It also seem to anger (or annoy in Athos’s opinion) the younger fighter for he suddenly he becomes faster, dodging attacks and countering with his own until he is able to get the knife into his own hands.

Athos looks away from the fight to their target who is whispering to another man, no doubt the man in charge of the fight or possible the owner of the one of the fighters. The crowd suddenly going quiet has him looking back at the fight, the younger Fighter is standing over his downed opponent, and the knife in his hand is coated in blood.

The older Fighter isn’t moving.

The Musketeer looks over at Aramis prepared to ask what he had missed but stops when he sees the expression on his friend’s face, it was a look of awe.

“Aramis?”

Aramis blinks; he mumbles to himself but says nothing to Athos.

“He’s moving” Aramis then says.

Athos looks back at their target to see both Bonnaire and the other man get up and make their way out of the cheering crowd, the two wait up for a moment before getting up and following, keeping careful distance they follow the two men to a backroom.

“I suppose we wait then” Aramis says as they peek around the corner looking at the closed door which was guarded.

“We wait” Athos agrees

They didn’t have to wait long, the door reopens this time with Bonnaire and the younger Fighter only, Athos frowns at the shackle and chains on the Fighter.

“Wonderful doing business with you” Bonnaire calls over his shoulder, “I’ll see you tomorrow, come along Porthos”

Both Musketeers duck behind barrels when Bonnaire and Fighter walk by them, Aramis peeks from behind them, stiffens when the Fighter looks over his shoulder and straight at him, the two stare at each other before the Musketeer presses a finger to his lips, ducking down when Bonnaire comes over after realizing that the Fighter was no longer following.

“Porthos?” he says.

 

The Fighter called Porthos looks away.

**19 Years Ago**

He is fifteen now (according to Bonniare), it’s been years since he’s capture and his mother’s death (once again according to Bonnaire, it’s been three years), he hasn’t been sold yet, the slave has a feeling it’s because Labarge has yet to break him.

The metal door opens; he stands and listens to the footsteps.

“Chowtime”

Porthos’s eyes narrow in hate at the sound of the man’s voice, he backs away when his door is opened, he waits for his food to be slide inside and the door to close again. It doesn’t.

“Come and get it mutt” sneers the guard, holding out the food tauntingly.

Porthos doesn’t move.

The guard huff in annoyance and throws the bowl to the ground, its contents spilling on the cell floor, Porthos glances at it but remains still.

“Eat it dog” orders the guard.

Porthos doesn’t move, the results will be the same regardless of what he does, sure enough the guard growls, unraveling his whip as he enters the cell. He grabs Porthos by the arm and throws him down on the floor, his face inches away from the now spoiled food, he grunts when a boot slams his head into the food and ground.

“I said, eat it”

He and this guard play this game nearly every day since he’s been here, a game he never wins and always ends with him bruised, scarred and bloodied. The pressure of the boot is lifted and he’s kicked in the face, groaning he curls into a ball just as more kicks come raining down.

Three years of this, a consist pattern.

He’s tired of it.

The guard lifts his foot to stomp on him once again and is thrown off when his foot is grabbed by a surprisingly strong grip, Porthos pulls and the guard is on the ground with him, rage surges and red clouds him, when the cloud finally lifts, he is being pulled off the guard, his hands ripped away from the man’s neck.

The guard isn’t breathing.

He is brutally whipped that day and gains a scar on his right eye, it is also the day he is chained and shackled.

**Present**

The house was medium in size, plain enough that no one would give it a second glance; it had a large cellar which was perfect housing the slaves they brought with them.

“Still wasn’t able to sell it again?” says Labarge when Bonnaire enters through the ‘back door’ Porthos behind him.

“Afraid not, but our dear friend is coming to visit tomorrow so another opportunity” Bonnaire says watching as Porthos is taken down to the cellar.

“Right”

Down in the cellar, Porthos’s leg shackles are chained to the floor, the guards put out all the torches that had been lighting the place expect for one as they go back up, leaving the slaves in semi-darkness.

Porthos sighs when familiar hands gently roam his bare chest and arms hissing when fingers brush against the cut, an apologetic kiss is placed on his bruised knuckles. Porthos lips twitch into a small smile before his brows furrow at the sudden filling of fatigue, but put it off with his body finally coming down from the high he always get during a fight.

Outside watching the house from afar in an alley across the street, Aramis and Athos nod to each other before making their way back to the Garrison to report to their Captain.

They found the hideout.


	3. Chapter 3

 

**9 Years Ago**

D’Artagnan learned that Porthos didn’t like to be touched by him, and unless the other had touched him first; he especially didn’t like to be touched unexpectedly and reacted violently.

It will take two years for D’Artagnan to be able to give the first touch; it’ll take four years for Porthos associate the other’s touch with the feeling of safety.

**Present**

Porthos was ill, his skin was hot yet his body shivered and he constantly mumbled about being cold, D’Artagnan tried his best. Wrapping the Slave up in the thin holey blanket, giving small portions of water and bits of bread, he rubs where it aches, did everything he could to make his Porthos better.

Expect get the Slave Masters.

For one, he knew they’d come back down eventually, hopefully by then Porthos would be better, the other reason is because he knew that Labarge would use this sickness as an excuse to finally get rid of the Slave; regardless of any protests Bonnaire may or may not do.

Sitting on the floor with Porthos curled up against him, head resting on his shoulder and his thick arm around his waist, D’Artagnan listens to the sounds upstairs as he rubs his hand up and down the arm around his waist, he pauses and frowns when he feels a sudden sticky wetness. He pulls his hand away and brings it up to his nose, what he smells has him reeling back in disgust, he doesn’t know what that smell means but he has a feeling it isn’t good.

Sometime later he must have dozed off because he is suddenly awakened by shouting, the thunder of rapidly moving feet and gunshots from above, pulling the sleeping Porthos closer to him D’Artagnan and the other Slaves look up and wait. The noises eventually dies down to soft murmurs and gentle shuffling, thinking it’s nothing D’Artagnan turns his attention back to Porthos, he frowns when he found the skin hotter than before, the frown becoming deeper at the confused mumbling.

Suddenly the door opens, and D’Artagnan feels his whole body freeze, his heart starts to pound when footsteps start to descend. Then there is the glow of a torch.

“Shit” says an unfamiliar voice, “down here!”

More footsteps come down followed by more lit torches, all the Slaves blink when more torches are lit giving them light.

“Dear God”

The Slaves and men stare at each other until finally one of the men speaks.

“Alright, let’s get them out of here”

D’Artagnan watches as one by one the Slaves are unshackled and unchained then brought up and out the cellar, the young Slave blinks when a man kneels before them.

“Hello there” says the man with a smile, it then that he notices Porthos, “my friend from the fight, I was wondering if I’d see you again…you don’t look well”

D’Artagnan watches as the man feels Porthos’s forehead, the man frowns before looking over the man’s body, the frown deepening when he notices the injured arm. The man suddenly starts barking orders, confused D’Artagnan then watches as he’s released and gently taken away from Porthos by another man.

It’s only when they get to the foot of the stairs that D’Artagnan stops and looks over his shoulder at Porthos, the moment the man touches Porthos, the Slave’s hand grabs the man’s wrist in a tight grip. The Slave’s fierce eyes looking into the man’s.

“Erm, hello?” says the man.

Porthos punches him.

D’Artagnan’s eyes widen when three other men come and hold down Porthos.

“Hold him!”

“We are!”

One of the men is kicked back, and another is punched, D’Artagnan moves only to be stopped by the man who had been leading him out, the man pulls him up the stairs, D’Artagnan pulls back struggling against the grip. The two struggle until finally D’Artagnan bites down hard on the man’s arm, the man gives a surprised yelp letting go of the slave, freed D’Artagnan rushes over back to Porthos.

He dodges failing hands and settles on the older Slave’s lap, his small hands grabs hold of Porthos’s face and they lock eyes, everything is silent expect for Porthos’s harsh breathing as the two stare at each other. Finally, Porthos’s eyes roll back and his body drops onto the floor in a dead faint.

**9 Years Ago**

D’Artagnan had stopped speaking altogether during his first year here, having learnt through Porthos and experience that there was no point (unless spoken to, and even that was a bit tricky) besides Porthos understood him just fine and that was all that mattered to the child.

The metal door opens, the child stands and waits, the footsteps tell him it’s not Porthos, instead it’s the guards in charge of feeding them. He doesn’t move from the back of the cell when his door opens and his food is slid in, nor does he move when his door is closed.

“Don’t know why the bosses are keeping him” says the guard to his partners as they continue doing the feeding rounds.

“I heard that it’s because he keeps that rapid dog in line” says his partner.

“That’s hard to believe” scoffs the other guard, “brat doesn’t do anything but sleep or stare, plus he’s so damn skinny”

“Maybe the mutt’s fucking him” the guard shrugs.

The other guard laughs.

When they leave and the metal door closes, D’Artagnan makes his way to the waiting food, he sits down and begins eating, putting aside some for Porthos when he comes back, as he eats he decides to ask Porthos what “fucking” means when the other Slave comes back.

**Present**

When Aramis and Athos enter, both men pause to take in the sight; beds on each side, all occupied by newly rescued slaves who were being attended to by physicians, they greet the head physician before heading to the bed at the end.

The occupant of the bed was awake and sitting up, quietly allowing the physician to look at his arm that had been infected, while his other arm was wrapped around the waist of another slave that was asleep in his lap using his naked chest as a pillow.

“Hello” says Aramis.

The slave –Porthos, Aramis remained himself- looked at him.

It’s been three days since the raid, after reporting their findings Captain Treville had stationed two Musketeers to watch the house during the day, that night a dozen Musketeers (Athos, Aramis, and the Captain included) burst into the house. Many tried to flee and only few escaped; Bonnaire and Labarge included, a quick interrogation had them going down into the cellar where they found the slaves.

“I had expected you to be still out” Aramis says to the staring man, “poison tends to take a lot out of people recovering from it”

The man blinks, before his attention is taken by the lad who was waking up, the lad blinks and yawns. He smiles at Porthos and seem content to go back to sleep if he hadn’t noticed Athos and Aramis, to the surprise of the Musketeers he snarls and growls at them.

Athos’s lips twitched amused, the snarling and growling was about as threatening as a puppy, looking back at Porthos, the man was looking at the lad in surprise.

“Don’t worry” Aramis then chuckles, “we’re not going to take him away from you, we’ve learnt our lesson, especially Athos here”

While treating Porthos the lad hadn’t moved from the other’s side, he refused to be moved and had even bitten Athos when the Musketeer tried to get the lad to move.

The lad gives him a weary look but doesn’t growl at them again.

“What’s your name?” Aramis then asks the boy.

The lad blinks at him.

“He doesn’t speak” says a soft voice from the bed next to them.

She was an older woman with dark long hair; she was beautiful even with the purple bruise on her cheek and old eyes. Athos goes over and sits on the chair near the bed.

“He doesn’t speak, none of us really do” she says to him, “no point in doing so”

“You are speaking to me” Athos says.

“It’s safe here….it is safe here isn’t it?”

Neither men liked the fearful tone in the woman’s tone, and made them wish Labarge, and Bonnaire hadn’t escaped.

“Yes, it’s safe here” Athos says.

The look in the woman’s eyes said she didn’t truly believe him, her time in a cage had taught her not to trust words and Athos couldn’t blame her.

“Do you know the lad’s name?” Athos then asked changing the subject.

“D’Artagnan”

 _“It suits him”_ Athos thought before asking more questions, “the two of them were together while you and the others weren’t, why is that?”

“Because D’Artagnan is Porthos’s” answers the woman.

“….I’m sorry, I don’t understand” Athos says after a pause to think over the statement and try to make sense of it.

“D’Artagnan….was given to Porthos because D’Artagnan keeps Porthos obedient”

Aramis looks over at Porthos, who was quietly watching the conversation, from the way the woman spoke she made it sound like the man was violent, true he had seen an ferocity during the fight that was both impressive and frightening, looking at the man now he had a feeling there was more to it, of course no one truly knew what went on in Slave Trades. A sudden noise brings the Musketeer out of his thoughts, jumps when he suddenly finds himself nose to nose with Porthos.

“Erm?”

To his bewilderment, the large man sniffs him.

“Erm?”

Porthos tilts his head before turning his attention back to D’Artagnan, settling him back on his lap when the lad had obviously had fallen off when the other had moved and pressing his head back down on his chest, Aramis turns to an equally bewildered Athos.

“Erm?”

After that Athos and Aramis spent most of the time talking to woman learning as much as they could, they learnt that D’Artagnan been in the Slave Trade since the age of five, sharing a cage with Porthos; he was left alone because of it; though occasionally he was on the receiving end of abuse. Porthos was taken to fight rings and more often than not was the focus of Labarge and his men abuse, Bonnaire seem to favor him a bit though. The guards there were weary of Porthos also and he was the only one shackled and chained when in his cage or cell.

The things the woman told them that went on in the Trade, the things the other slaves had suffered made them both shiver and boil with anger; soon they were forced to leave so the patients could rest.

When they return to their home, dinner has once again been made and was waiting for them; Aramis makes their plates and sits down.

“Athos” Aramis says after a moment.

And it’s all that he needed to say.

Three days later the guest bedroom was cleaned and aired out, both Musketeers went to their Captain to inform them of what they were going to do, the Captain was as expected, surprised and looked like he wanted to ask but decided not to. Instead he wished them luck and gave them a few days off to settle in their new house guests.

When they returned to the sick house, they told the head Physician that they were taking D’Artagnan and Porthos.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is non-con and brief thoughts of double suicide so be careful!

The Physician didn’t let Aramis and Athos take Porthos and D’Artagnan to their new home until early the next morning.

“The less people around them, the more calm they will be” he had said, “trust me, I’ve dealt with this before”

Now, the two Musketeers were standing in the middle of their home with two new roommates who merely stared at them.

“Right then” Aramis says after clearing his throat, “I’ll show where you’ll be sleeping, this way”

D’Artagnan and Porthos both follow the man up the stairs and down the hall until they got to a closed door, Aramis opens it and walks in, the two follow.

“Well here we are, you two will be sleeping here, sorry there is only one bed, we’ll get another one soon”

Aramis watches as his new roommates look around the room, they didn’t move to touch or look at anything; finally they turn their attention back to Aramis who squirms nervously under they’re gaze, clearing his throat once again, he heads over to the bed where clothing was waiting.

“We brought you some new clothes, the best money can buy courtesy of Madam Bonacieux. We figured you would want to change out of you…current clothing”

Said current clothing couldn’t really be called clothing to begin with, it couldn’t even be called rags, Aramis supposed the best word would be loincloth, and that was being polite.

“So, I’ll just leave you two to it” the Musketeer then says.

Both Porthos and D’Artagnan watch him as he heads out the door, “Athos and I will be downstairs if you need anything” he says before closing the door.

Once the door is closed behind him, Aramis heads down the kitchen, he is surprised to see Athos slicing up bread and cheese instead of drinking wine like he expected.

“How did they take their new sleeping quarters and clothing?” Athos asked.

“Don’t know, just blank expressions” Aramis says, “I believe we may have been a bit hasty in taking them in”

“True, but what’s done is done, and they are our responsibility now”

Aramis nods in agreement, whatever happens now they will handle it no doubt, after Athos had finished plating the food, Aramis went back up to get their guests. He knocked and waited, opening the door when he realized he wasn’t going to get an answer, he found that the two hadn’t changed into their new clothes; instead they seem to have made themselves at home on the floor. Position across from the door, the large man was sitting with his back against the wall, D’Artagnan on his lap. Porthos looked at Aramis; his expression was blank unlike D’Artagnan’s, who seemed both curious and weary.

It hits Aramis then in there that perhaps they could not handle this after all.

**19 years ago**

Buckets upon buckets of cold water is thrown on him, soaking wet and shivering he is then thrown into a warm room with a lit fireplace, no windows; a small table and a bed in the corner. Bonnaire is there waiting. The Slave Master frowns at the dripping Slave.

“Could have at least dried you off, really” he grumbles as he goes to the door.

Bonnaire sticks his head out and yells for a towel, when he has it in his hand, the Slave Master moves to the still standing Slave. Porthos tenses when the man comes near, growling slightly, Bonnaire stops before giving a small smile.

“Don’t worry; I just want to dry you off” he says.

With a weary look, Porthos watches as the man moves closer, he flinches when the towel touches him, but remains still as he’s dried off.

“There, isn’t that better?”

Porthos doesn’t answer, instead he watches Bonnaire tosses the towel in the corner, and goes over to the small table, on it was a bottle and pours the wine into both cups. He then takes both of them in hand and goes back to Porthos, the Slave stares down at the cup presented to him.

“Go on” Bonnaire encourages.

Porthos glances at the patiently waiting man, and then back at the cup, he takes the cup.

“Drink up”

Porthos does, blinking at the taste, before his capture he had tasted wine twice, he still remembers the sweet and slightly dry taste, the wine given to him tasted nothing like those times.

“Good, isn’t it, got it on my last trip in Brazil. Has a certain sweetness that I find appealing”

Porthos says nothing as he finishes his wine, he is startled when it’s refilled, it’s when he’s on his third cup does he suddenly feel….off. It’s also when he notices that Bonnaire hadn’t taken a single sip of his cup.

“I see the drug had finally set in”

He’s pulled towards the bed and firmly pushed down on his back, the moment he hits the mattress does he go boneless and his vision gets hazy, the mattress deepens as Bonnaire gets into the bed with him

“We won’t be needing these any longer”

His shackles are removed along with what clothing he has.

“You are an impressive sight indeed” Bonnaire purrs.

There is a pause then the ruffling of clothing being removed before hands roam over his body, a mouth latches onto his neck and bites, he gives an involuntary moan when a wet hand takes hold of his soft cock. He moans again when the hand tightens around his cock, and moves it up and down, his hips buck when the tip of his cock is gently scrapped by a blunt fingernail. Hazy eyes look at the one causing this pleasure, Bonnaire grins at him.

The Slave Master suddenly moaning pulls Porthos’s attention to where the man has one hand behind him moving in a kind of rhythmic movement, suddenly the pleasure stops and his hips are straddled, he groans when a sudden tight warmth sinks down on his cock.

“You feel wonderful” Bonnaire moans.

The hazy feeling gets hazier as pleasure takes over, his hips buck up into the warmth that seemingly gets warmer and the tightness gets tighter, everything feels like it was going to explode. Dimly is he aware of his hands coming up and gripping Bonnaire’s hips tightly and bucking up wildly, or the Slave Master’s moaning “good boy”

Everything then explodes.

Panting, his hands slip off of Bonnaire, and he doesn’t even grunt when the Slave Master slumps on top of him.

“Such…a…good…boy” Bonnaire pants.

When everything is clear, he’s back in his cell, the taste of wine and something bitter in his mouth.

**Present**

Morning begins with Athos opening the door to his new housemates’ room, the Musketeer is greeted with the sight of Porthos staring at him from his spot across the room, the large man’s back pressed to the wall, in his lap and looking sleepily at him was D’Artagnan.

“Morning” Athos said, “breakfast is ready, come downstairs”.

With the two former Slaves behind him, Athos heads to the kitchen, he had spent the whole night thinking of a way to deal with this situation. He came up with a few, but only one seem to be of any merit, which he discussed with Aramis who had then left for the Sick House to speak with the Head Physician early this morning. Hopefully he should be back soon with an answer.

“Sit and eat” Athos orders when they got the kitchen.

D’Artagnan and Porthos sat and begin eating, the portions were small like the day before, prior the Head Physician’s instructions the day they came to get they’re new housemates. Athos watches as Porthos gives most of his food to D’Artagnan just like before. Breakfast is quiet, broken only by the sound of Aramis returning.

“Good morning” Aramis greets the two former Slaves before making a plate of food for himself, “Athos, the Physician says to go with your idea for now, he also gave me a warning on not abusing our power, of course he was subtle about it”.

Athos nods, before turning his attention back to D’Artagnan and Porthos, now that he got the approval it was time to put his plan into action.

“We’re going to ask you some questions” Athos begins, “and we want answers”

Athos made sure his voice was firm enough for it to be an order, but gentle enough to be nonthreatening, judging from the way Porthos’s eyes narrowed he didn’t do a good job.

“Do you know why you’re here?” Aramis asked.

“Because you brought us” Porthos says to they’re surprise, they weren’t expecting an answer.

Athos winces at how hoarse the man’s voice sounded.

“Not exactly, but that doesn’t matter at the moment, what matters is what we expect from you” said Aramis.

“What we expect from you is this.” Athos continues on, “you’re free to move about the house as much as you want, if you get hungry we to expect you to eat, if you want or need something, we expect you to tell us. Understand?”

Both hesitantly nod.

“Great! Now, any questions?” said Aramis with a smile.

Porthos turns his attention back to D’Artagnan, pushing the lad’s plate closer to him, keeping an eye on the two Musketeers.

“I think that went well” Aramis then said.

**8 years ago**

D’Artagnan had grown, grown into something that gained attention, even Labarge paused to give the young Slave a once over. Porthos knew that it wouldn’t be long before the boy would be taken to a room, just like him.

Porthos didn’t want that.

There wasn’t anything he could do about it…expect be the first, and also prepare D’Artagnan to want was about to come.

It was late into the night when he wakes D’Artagnan, he knows it’s late because the men that guard the cells left and never came back, and the torches that were lit along the walls to give light had dimmed. Porthos lays the younger on the thin blanket he had spread out on the floor earlier, D’Artagnan blinks sleepily up at him; but he lays obediently as the older Slave removes what clothing he has.

D’Artagnan does give him a curious look when Porthos spreads his legs, the older Slave stares at the younger as he pushes pass the younger’s arse cheeks, years of watching in the flickering dark has D’Artagnan’s eyes widening in understanding. Porthos tilts his head in questioning and waits, he doesn’t have to wait long.

D’Artagnan nods.

From what he could remember through his hazy moments with Bonnaire there is stretching involved along with a needed wetness, removing his finger he place it along with two other into his mouth, he wets them until spit is trailing down his hand. He pushes one finger inside, gaining a yelp at the sudden invasion, D’Artagnan whimpers when a second is quickly added. Porthos wiggles the fingers around before adding the third; D’Artagnan gives another painful whimper but doesn’t try and get away.

After sometime he removes the fingers, he spits heavily into his hand and strokes his soft cock with it, getting it hard and wet.

Porthos then spreads an arse cheek with one hand and guides his cock in with the other, D’Artagnan makes a pained sound, Porthos stops gives places an apologetic kiss on his forehead before continuing to push in. He knows it hurts, both mind and body remembers despite the drugs, it will always hurt; but the first time is the worst. He suppose if he believed in luck, he would consider himself just that to have gained Bonnaire’s interest instead of Labarge’s , Bonnaire is at least patient when the man decides to fuck him. Porthos doubts Labarge would be so generous.

When he’s all the way in, he remains still, fighting the urge to thrust into the tight warmth. Instead he grabs hold of D’Artagnan’s legs bends them and leans forward, body covering D’Artagnan’s, hands placed firmly on either side of the boy’s head. Beneath him D’Artagnan trembles, teeth biting on bottom so not to make a sound, eyes shining with unshed pained tears as he looks up at Porthos. The larger man nuzzles the younger making soothing sounds, finally Porthos moves, thrusting into D’Artagnan, the younger’s pained whimpers echo off the wall.

It fills like a long time before Porthos spills inside D’Artagnan; it takes all he has not to collapse on top of the body beneath him. Slowly he slips out, he then checks D’Artagnan, no blood good.

Using the blanket, he cleans D’Artagnan off before gently gathering him up in his arms, tomorrow night if possible, he’ll show the younger what he’s expected to do with his mouth and enter him again. By the time Labarge and/or his men make move Porthos hopes his D’Artagnan with be used to the pain.

Porthos enters D’Artagnan five times before he is taken from him one night (the men taking him away looking all too eager), returned to him the next morning dripping with cum, Porthos is relieved there is no blood.

**Present**

After breakfast the two men left, Aramis going up stairs and Athos out the house to run errands, leaving D’Artagnan and Porthos to themselves. D’Artagnan looks up at Porthos, questions in his eyes, questions Porthos could not answer. He was lost, everything was confusing. Everything about this house was confusing including the men who were now they’re Masters…expect they didn’t feel like Masters, and this house didn’t feel like the cage, Porthos had been around both long enough to know what they felt like and none of this felt like it.

Like he said, confusing.

D’Artagnan tugs on his sleeve, pushing the thoughts away for a now, Porthos gathers what food is left on their plate and stands, with D’Artagnan’s hand clenching the back of his shirt both of them go up to their room. Once the door is closed, D’Artagnan takes the food from Porthos and hides it away, with nothing to do, Porthos’s thoughts are brought back to the confusing feelings. The more he thought about, the more he was coming to realize that what he felt from both the house and they’re new Masters was…safety.

He didn’t think he could feel that way anymore or even recognize it for what it was…he also wasn’t sure what to do with it.

**10 years ago**

He doesn’t remember his mother’s face; he doesn’t remember much to be honest, not even her name. What he **_does_** remember is her voice. Gentle but firm, and every day until her dying day, with that voice she tells him, “When you fall on your knees, keep going. Crawl if you have to, but never stop. Stopping means forever staying on your knees”.

At that time he didn’t know what she meant, he does now, and he suppose that’s what keeps him from breaking, for every fight he does, for every torture he’s put through. For those times, where he feels like it’s better to break then to stay strong, or those nights when he’s holding D’Artagnan in arms and thinks it’s better for the both of them to wrap his hands around their necks, and squeeze and squeeze until the last breath leaves them. He’s mother’s voice echoes in his head, telling him to keep going, and every time he listens, and keeps going.

**Present**

Surprisingly, it takes three days for D’Artagnan and Porthos to start moving about the house without it being because of an order, Athos thought it would take more time and more effort on their part, the two only went to as far as the kitchen, but like Aramis said; it was progress. Unfortunately for Aramis and Athos, neither D’Artagnan nor Porthos made a sound when they walked; Porthos gave Aramis a good fright when the large man suddenly appeared behind him, large body towering over him (D’Artagnan peeking from behind).

The good thing about the two moving about was that it gave the two Musketeers time to observe them, and while they still weren’t sure how the two worked, they did learn that Porthos pretty much manhandled D’Artagnan, grabbing him and placing the younger where ever he wanted (mostly on his lap), he was affectionate with the younger; nuzzling him or kissing him on the forehead, and that was only if either men were able to enter the room without being detected.

Which brought them to they’re other discovery, Porthos was protective of D’Artagnan, the large man never letting them get too close to the younger, growling and snarling if they were; and that’s if they could somehow could get around the barrier that was Porthos.

D’Artagnan on the other hand, didn’t make a sound what so ever, Athos was being to think the boy was a complete mute even though the woman told them he wasn’t, and that the lad had growled at them that day at the sick house. He was also affectionate, and didn’t mind the that Porthos manhandled him, or that Porthos answered any questions directed towards that that couldn’t be answered with a nod or shake of the head.

To be honest they expected….more, yes there was that distrust, they saw it in the way both looked at them and the way body tensed when they got to close, but there was also this look of curiosity and a feeling of lost. Not the lost one found when met with a tragedy, but the kind of lost one found when encountered with an unknown.

Athos and Aramis knew that feeling well enough.

Days pass, and Aramis found himself in the kitchen on the final night before he and Athos had to resume they’re duties, reading his favorite book by candlelight, Athos had retired to bed earlier; taking a bottle of wine with him. It takes him a while to realize he had company.

“Good Lord!” he yelps, jumping in his seat and dropping his book.

Porthos blinks at him.

Calming his racing heart Aramis picks up his book from the floor before turning his attention to the other, “This is the fourth time you’ve nearly scared me to death, I’m beginning to think you enjoy it” he says.

The Musketeer notices that for the first time that Porthos is alone, surprised but doesn’t mention it, “What are you doing up?” he asked instead.

The man shrugs slowly as though he himself is unsure of why he was up and about.

Aramis studies the man, takes in his expression, and for a moment Porthos’s blank mask falls and in its place is a look of lost before the blankness is back up, coming to a decision he pats the chair next to him.

“Sit” he orders.

Porthos sits.

Smiling, Aramis finds his page and begins to read aloud.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for non-con.

 

For the first time since they’ve been brought here, D’Artagnan and Porthos woke up alone, after eating some of the food they’ve stored, they left the room. Instead of going to the kitchen as usual, the two explore the rest of the house; they find two more rooms, one filled with empty bottles while the other was similar to theirs. The only difference was that the room had a bookcase full of books. Leaving the room they went down stairs, passing the kitchen they headed down the hall that they always kept away from, the hall leads to a door. Peeking out the door reveals a medium sized yard filled with nothing but soil and patches of grass.

Back inside the two head back up to they’re room, the moment the door closed D’Artagnan heads to the nest of pillows and sheets placed on the floor and positioned across from the door, the younger curls up in the middle, he is soon joined by Porthos who curls up next to him. The man then reaches underneath a pillow and pulls out a book, Aramis had given it to him that night the man had read to him.

“It’s a picture book,” he had said, “but enjoyable”

After much shifting which ended with Porthos’s chest pressed against D’Artagnan’s back and the younger using the elder’s arm as a pillow, the book opens, D’Artagnan’s eyes widen at the pictures, both fall asleep to the turning of pages.

**5 years ago**

He was burning, burning, burning, **_burning_**!

Beings with rotting faces hovered over him, twisted hands cold and painful touched him.

Where was Porthos? Why was he letting these things….monsters touch him?

Voices hissed around and at him, everything was blurred…expect for the monsters.

Where was Porthos? Why wasn’t he saving him from the monsters?

The monsters forced his mouth open, and something went down his throat.

He wanted Porthos.

He is not sure how long he stays with the monsters, how long he’s been burning, but when he opens his eyes, he is no longer burning, and Porthos is holding him tightly in his arms.

The monsters still hunt him.

P **resent**

Porthos woke up to footsteps that weren’t their Masters, whose footsteps were heavy and stomped about, these were lighter. The large man carefully removes D’Artagnan from him, the younger who had also awoken to the sound of unfamiliar footsteps blinks at him. Porthos covers the lad in the sheets and places pillows on top of him before making his way to the source of the footsteps.

He finds it in the kitchen.

It was a woman.

She is humming as she prepares what looks and smells like fish, Porthos stand there watching her, when she turns around, she gives a startled scream at the sight of the large man standing in the doorway.

“O-Oh, um hello” the woman stutters with nerves, “you must be Porthos”

Porthos tilts his head.

“I’m Constance, Constance Bonacieux; I look after the house occasionally”

Porthos blinks.

Constance clears her throat nervously, her fingers fidgeting with her apron, “Erm, are you hungry? I’m just about done”

Porthos says nothing as he studies her, she looks to be older then D’Artagnan by a year or three, soft looking skin and curly hair. His thoughts wonder to his old Master, and how they would like her, she would have made them a lot of money.

Constance bites her lower lip, Athos and Aramis had told her all about Porthos and D’Artagnan, and how they were rescued slaves and didn’t speak. Still hearing and seeing were two different things.

The woman jumps again when Porthos moves, the man goes and sits down at the table, Constance stands there bewildered before slowly going back to cooking, occasionally glancing at Porthos. After a while, she starts to hum a little tune her mother use to sing while working in the kitchen, and she forgets about the man in the room. So she’s a little surprised when she hears another voice join her own, it was a deep rumbling voice, horse from long disuse but still pleasant.

Constance stares at the large man, who was sitting at the table, eyes closed and humming. His face was relaxed, not blank like before, he looked less terrifying.

“Uh”

Porthos stops and opens his eyes, he looks surprised; as though he wasn’t aware he had been making a sound, before his face goes blank and looks at Constance. Constance looks back unsure of what to do; she wants to tell him that he could continue, she wants to ask why there was a brief look of weariness in his eyes the longer she stares. She wants to do all this and more, but she doesn’t; instead she turns back to her task, hoping to hear a song in the silence.

**8 years ago**

Labarge is angry, no one knows why, but knows better than to be in his line of sight, even Bonnaire leaves. The Slaves are not as lucky, already three have been subjected to a beating, and food has been withheld. In their cell, D’Artagnan and Porthos knew it was a matter of time before they are next.

They are not wrong, guards come and take the both of them, they are taken to a large room decorated with elegant pillows and rugs (taken from raids, the two Slaves will later find out) where Labarge and his men are waiting. Labarge grabs D’Artagnan, forces the boy onto his knees while he unlaces his trousers, and pulls out his half-hard cock.  The young Slave makes a choked sound when the Slave Master shoves his cock in his mouth, with a hand griping the long hair to keep the boy still, Labarge fucks the Slave’s mouth.

Porthos watches, eyes locked on D’Artagnan’s watery eyes, and choked sounds; his attention is taken when two of Labarge’s men grab him and forced him onto his hands and knees. He is stripped, before a cock is forced into his mouth, there is movement then a cock is pushed inside of his hole.

 “So tight” groans the man who was fucking Porthos, “no wonder Bonnaire likes you so much,”

Porthos just forces on not choking on the cock being thrust down his throat.

He is fucked and fucked, until Labarge’s men are spilling down his throat and in his ass. He swallows the seeds in his mouth (having learned the first time he spit it out), and barely has time to look and see Labarge fucking D’Artagnan before more cocks are forced into him.

After that it is a haze, at point he is aware of Labarge switching them, giving D’Artagnan to his men while the Slave Master took the older Slave.  When they are returned to the cell, they’re exhausted, bodies trembling and leaking.

**Present**

Athos and Aramis return hours after Constance leaves, they find Porthos and D’Artagnan in their room as usual, Porthos is looking at the book Aramis have given him, while D’Artagnan slept curled up in his lap.

“And how was your day?” Aramis asked as he enters the room, Athos behind him.

Porthos puts down the book and looks at them, in his lap D’Artagnan stirs and but remains asleep, Porthos stares at them for a moment before licking his lips and opens his mouth.

“A...woman….was…here” he said, slowly, voice raspy.

The two Musketeers are surprised, they weren’t expecting an answer.

“You must mean Madame Bonacieux” Aramis said after getting over his shock and joy, “I’m sorry we forgot to mention she comes over sometimes to take care of the house”

“She…was…humming”

Neither knew what to say about that, and waited to see if Porthos would continue.

“My…mother…did…the same…thing”

After that, they have dinner, Aramis and Athos feeling joyous that Porthos had spoken to them voluntarily, that joy growing when Aramis sat down with a book, Porthos joined him along with D’Artagnan. Even Athos stayed for a while listening to Aramis soft voice as he read.  The man only stopped when D’Artagnan started to doze off, after biding them good night both Musketeers watched as Porthos carried D’Artagnan upstairs.

It became a routine after that, Athos and Aramis would return home, ask the two about they’re day, to which Porthos would answer then they would have dinner, after dinner Aramis would sit down with his book and read to his two; sometimes three, audience until one of them started to doze then it was off to bed.

It was a routine, a comfortable routine.

**19 years ago**

Sometimes, Bonnaire will talk to him, tell him stories of all the places he’s been, all the people he’s met. If he was drunk enough, he’ll talk about how he’ll take Porthos with him on his next trip.

“You’d make an excellent bodyguard” the Master will slur as he leans against Porthos’s shoulder.

He’ll tell Porthos that he will show him the sea, the forest with trees as big as mountains, bright colored flowers and erotic animals.

Bonnaire will tell him many lies, in the small room with the bed.

**Present**

Porthos is not sure why he spoke to their Masters that day, perhaps it’s because the woman, Constance had hum that song. Brought back memories of his mother’s voice, or perhaps because he feels safe here, whatever the reason was Porthos knew he couldn’t take it back; and found he didn’t mind. Especially as he now sits here listening to his Master Aramis read aloud, the man’s voice was soft and gentle like D’Artagnan’s hands after a fight.

“And that’s then end” Aramis said closing the book.

Porthos frowns, and Aramis chuckles at the disappointed almost pout on the other man’s face, “I have more” he then says, “we can start a new one tomorrow night”

Porthos nods, eyes locked onto the book, Aramis follows his gaze. Slowly he smiles when an idea comes to him, one he’s sure Porthos will like.

“I have an idea, how about I teach you how to read, that way you can read the books when I’m not here”

Porthos’s eyes widen, and his mind goes blank.

He eventual says yes.

**8 years ago**

A Slave escaped, no one is sure how she did it, but Labarge is angry; and while it will not end well for them. D’Artagnan cannot help but think of freedom, think of running under the sun without chains and shackles with Porthos, eating feasts every night and sleeping in a soft warm bed.

He thinks about it, but only for a moment.

**Present**

Porthos is learning how to read, every night their Master Aramis would teach Porthos words, words that Porthos would teach him. D’Artagnan likes this, likes listening to Porthos’s rumbling voice, and in turn he’s starting to like Master Aramis. He is also starting to like the woman Constance who comes by, because she makes Porthos hum.

Master Athos is quiet, does not speak often, sometimes he’ll join them in listening to Master Aramis read, other times he’ll be in his room. His eyes, his eyes were intense, with a look that remained him of the eyes of other Slaves.

Broken, a word he heard often in the cell.

Today, their Masters were home, and had a surprise for them; they were going to the Market.

“You can’t stay here forever” Aramis says, “and some fresh air will do you some good”

D’Artagnan clings to Porthos’s shirt as they take steps towards and out the door.

Outside is bright and loud, with the scent of dampness, smoke and musk. People were everywhere, going about their business.

It was amazing.

“Alright” says Aramis after letting the two take everything in, and making sure they weren’t becoming overwhelmed.

D’Artagnan stays close to Porthos as the two follow their Master through the crowd, listening to Aramis and occasionally Athos talk about this and that, D’Artagnan doesn’t know where to look.

“Here we are, the Market” announces Aramis.

“Stay close” Athos instructs.

Both nod.

Time passes as they watch their Master make purchases, after some urging from Aramis, they even look over some of the items; it is….nice. D’Artagnan is not sure what do with such a feeling.

It doesn’t last long unfortunately.

D’Artagnan looks up from large fruits that Master Athos called melons, and realizes he was alone.

His heart stops.

Where was Porthos? Where. Was. Porthos!?

D’Artagnan’s mouth is opened to call for him but all that comes out is a whimper, and moves away from the cart of melons and looks around the crowd for Porthos, or even his Masters. His feet are moving, and his pushing through people, eyes frantically searching for Porthos. Suddenly, he hits something hard and stumbles to the ground.

“Watch it brat!”

D’Artagnan looks up, it is three men, with red capes. The one he runs into, glares down at him with a sneer, it made him look like Master Labarge.

“Aren’t you going to apologize?”   

Years of training and fear keeps the child silent, the man sneers and grabs him by the arm, D’Artagnan is roughly lifted up from the ground.

“Maybe this will teach you some manners” says the man as he raises his hand to strike.

The strike never comes; instead the man’s arm is suddenly grabbed and twisted around his back. The man gives out a cry of surprised pain and the grip on the younger’s arm is released, D’Artagnan then watches as the man is thrown, landing in a stack of carts, the man doesn’t get up. The Slave goes over to his savior. Porthos wraps his arm around the younger who clings to him, dark eyes looking him over for injuries, it’s only until the sound of swords unsheathing do either of them remember the other two men.

Porthos gently pushes D’Artagnan safely to the side, and faces the armed men, standing at his full height.  The armed men hesitant, but bravery (or stupidity according to Aramis) wins over and they lunge at him, Porthos dodges one sword tripping the man in the process, the other sword he gets under his arm, the Slave jabs his elbow in the man’s face.  The man stumbles holding his now broken and bleeding nose, the other man had regained his footing and attacks Porthos again, Porthos dodges and is able to get and break the sword. Angry the man charges at the large man, the Slave side steps then brings his knee up hard into the man’s stomach. The man groans and falls to the ground, he doesn’t get back up.   

“You’re going to regret that” said the second man, blood still leaking out of his nose.

Porthos’s eyes narrow, the man charges, sword forgotten on the ground, the moment he got closer enough. Porthos punches him, knocking the man out.

It’s then that they’re Masters appeared, pushing through the crowd that had gathered.

“Well” Aramis said after looking at the damage, “at least we didn’t start it”

Athos sighed.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone! Sorry for the late update, real life has kept me a little busy, but here it is, the next chapter!
> 
> Also there is NON-CON in this chapter, just a heads-up!

 

Porthos pulls D’Artagnan closer to him while he watches as Master Aramis goes over and checks the fallen men.

“They’re still alive” says Aramis.

Commotion has both Masters and Porthos looking, pushing through the crowd were men with the same red colored capes.

“Time to go” Athos says, then turns to the two Slaves, “come on”

The two Slaves follows their Masters through the crowd that parts for them, Porthos and D’Artagnan are lead through back alleys and ushered through the door and into the kitchen when they come upon the house.  Porthos then stands still as Aramis pokes and prods him for injures, it’s only when the Master moved to D’Artagnan, does Porthos snarl and pull the younger male behind him.

Aramis freezes.

“He just wants to make sure D’Artagnan isn’t hurt” Athos soothes.

Porthos bares his teeth.

“I’m not going to hurt him” Aramis smiles, “I promise”

Porthos growls, a deep rumbling sound, behind the bigger man D’Artagnan whimpers. It’s takes a while but both Athos and Aramis are able to coax Porthos to step aside, under the Slave’s protective gaze Aramis looks over D’Artagnan.

“No bruises, or broken bones” Aramis smiles.

Porthos gently pulls D’Artagnan back to him.

“So, who’s hungry?” Aramis then says after a moment.

**5 years ago**

It started because of night terrors, of Aramis crying out for lost brothers, cries that pulled Athos from his room and his wine. Down the dark hall, behind the unlocked door, with gentle arms and soft voice he wipes away tears and chases off night terrors. When morning comes, Athos had yet to let go, and when they part to get ready for the day; it is with a silent agreement.

A little bit of wine along with desperation to forget their demons and loneliness, makes them fall into bed, nights are spent with bodies tangled with each other. With nails digging into sheets, soft moans and gasps.

Unspoken love has them staying together.

**Present**

Their Masters had not been angry at them for starting the fight; in fact they seem amused, even the man their Masters called Captain Treville, who arrived the day after and scowled at Aramis and Athos; had been amused when Master Athos had explained that it was Porthos who had fought and defeated the men in the red capes (Red Guards, they are called)

“Did you get bigger, since the last I saw you?” says Captain Treville, looking at Porthos when the Slave had come into the kitchen on Athos’s orders.

Porthos tilts his head, Aramis snickers.

Treville only had glances of the Slaves during the raid, afterwards he was doing damage control with the King, Queen and Cardinal, so he didn’t have time to see them in the sick house. He does remember Porthos through, mostly because of the man’s size and because he had fought his men in the cellar. 

“Where’s the other one?” Treville asks, “D’Artagnan wasn’t it?”

Porthos’s body goes tense, which does not go unnoticed by Aramis, Athos, and Treville. The Captain gives his two men a questioning look.

“Porthos is very…protective of D’Artagnan” Aramis answers.

Treville nods, and Aramis asks Porthos to get D’Artagnan, Porthos does as asked, the moment he sees the younger Slave, Treville’s face softens.  The younger Slave is small, thin, and looking up wearily at him. With a soft voice he introduces himself, D’Artagnan merely clings to Porthos.

Not for the first time, the Captain of the Musketeers wishes that Bonnaire and Labarge hadn’t gotten away.

**2 Years ago**

D’Artagnan is taken to Labarge, the large naked Slave Master is lodging on pillows and blankets, the Slave’s shackles are removed and his clothing taken from him.

“Come here” Labarge orders.

D’Artagnan goes to him, he is pulled into the man’s lap, and an arm is wrapped around his waist before a bowl of grapes is given to him. One by one the Slave feeds his Master the grapes, paying the hand that is sliding up and down his leg and the hard cock poking him little mind.  When the bowl is nearly empty, Labarge grabs a vial of oil and slinks up his hard cock, he turns D’Artagnan towards his chest. The Slave remains still as his legs around spread and wrapped around the man’s waist as much as possible, grunt when Labarge’s cock head pushes inside of him.

D’Artagnan continues to feed his Master grapes.

**Present**

Constance comes by, with her are new clothes for Porthos and D’Artagnan, as well as a man called Monsieur Bonacieux; Constance’s husband.

“Do they speak?” Bonacieux asks, giving Porthos a weary look.

“They can” says Constance as she places the basket of clothes on the kitchen table.

Monsieur Bonacieux doesn’t say anything; instead he goes over to his wife and kisses her on the lips.

“I have an order to finish, then another delivery, I will be home late” he says.

“Alright” Constance says, nodding.

Bonacieux kisses her again, he turns to the two Slaves who are watching them, D’Artagnan has his head tilted; eyes curious. Bonacieux raised a brow at his wife, who merely shrugs, leaving it alone Monsieur Bonacieux leaves the house. Once alone, Constance begins, she gave them the two shirts that Athos had ordered for the two.

“Try them on” she says, “I need to see if I have to make any adjustments”

The young woman’s face turns red when Porthos and D’Artagnan suddenly take off their shirts right in front of her, turning around Constance was rather glad she didn’t start with trousers. A few moments later she peeks over her shoulder and was glad to see that they had their new shirts on.

“Well” she says turning around to face them, “they look like they fit”

Constance has them try on the rest of the clothing she had brought (quickly shooing them to their room when she hands them the trousers), pleased when everything fit the two perfectly. Afterwards, she starts making dinner.

Having got used to Porthos coming into the kitchen, and his deep soothing humming mixing into the air of spices; Constance is startled when another pair of hands join hers in skinning potatoes.

“Oh!”

D’Artagnan freezes eyes wide, hand dropping the spare knife that the woman had placed earlier on the table; at the table the humming stops.

“Sorry” Constance quickly apologies, “you startled me”

D’Artagnan doesn’t move, and Constance’s worried that she may have deeply frightened the young man; finally D’Artagnan picks back up the spare knife and begins skinning. Constance watches him, eyes widening when she realized that the other was skinning the potatoes in the exact same way as she was doing earlier. Surprised, and amazed, Constance starts back on her skinning.

From the kitchen table comes humming.

**1 Year Ago**

Porthos is taken to the room, along with him is D’Artagnan. Chains are taken away, and clothes fall to the ground.

“On the bed you two” Bonnaire orders

The two do so, the Slave Master joins, unlacing his trousers along the way.

“Porthos, on your back”

Porthos lays on his back.

“Good boy, now D’Artagnan, place yourself in between his legs, and take Porthos into your mouth”

D’Artagnan moves and settles himself between the bigger male’s legs he then takes hold of Porthos’s soft penis and wraps his lips around the head.

“Take more....more, there you go” Bonnaire purrs when D’Artagnan takes Porthos all the way to the root, “Porthos’s lift your hips, take your pleasure from your boy”

Gripping the back of D’Artagnan’s head firmly, Porthos lifts his hips, and takes his pleasure; wanting to gain release as quickly as possible. Hard cock twitching at the choking noises coming from the younger male, the Slave Master moves behind D’Artagnan, he takes the younger’s hips and lifts him up onto his knees. He reaches for the oil that he had placed close by, after he coats his fingers in it, he spreads D’Artagnan’s arse cheeks and pushes one finger in.

“That’s enough Porthos” Bonnaire then says when Porthos’s thrust started to become erratic.

Panting, Porthos slumps back against the bed, lifting D’Artagnan from his penis before his fingers slips from the boy’s head, D’Artagnan whimpers when a second finger in pushed in.

“There’s a good lad” Bonnaire coos, “you take my fingers so well, and so tight. You’ll feel wonderful around Porthos”

Porthos watches as Bonnaire adds a third finger before looking down at D’Artagnan who had buried his face in the older Slave’s thigh. 

“There, now D’Artagnan on your back, Porthos I believe you know what to do from here”

D’Artagnan rolls onto his back, he watches as Bonnaire rubs oil on Porthos’s hard cock with one hand, while the other caressed exposed skin. Once the Slave Master was satisfied, Porthos doesn’t waste time, and enters the younger man.

Bonnaire moans at the sight of Porthos’s balls pressed snuggly against D’Artagnan’s arse, when the large Slave pulls out and pushes back in, the Slave Master pulls out his painfully hard cock and strokes it.

“Good boy Porthos” Bonnaire pants, “harder….harder...yes like that”

Porthos licks at the pained tears that had gathered in the corner of D’Artagnan’s eyes, blocking out the pained filled whimpers beneath him, Porthos speeded up his thrusts.

Regretfully, Bonnaire lets go of his cock and watches as Porthos groans and with one last thrust releases into D’Artagnan, the large Slave slumps onto the smaller body beneath him. Getting more oil, he spread it on his fingers and moves closer to Porthos, he spreads arse cheeks and pushes two fingers in. Porthos grunts but doesn’t move.

Bonnaire removes his fingers almost as quickly as he put them in, with the rest of the oil he coats his cock. The Slave Master moans when he enters Porthos, he waste no time and moves, his thrust forcing Porthos who was still in D’Artagnan to move as well.

Beneath him, D’Artagnan whimpers in pain and clings to Porthos, Porthos licks away tears.

**Present**

D’Artagnan knows what kissing is, Porthos does it all the time, kisses him on the forehead, cheeks, and sometimes on his hands.  He likes it when Porthos kisses him, as much as he likes it when his Porthos hold him.

Porthos has never kissed him on the mouth.

A mouth was only used for taking cock, and taking cock was something D’Artagnan did not like.

So he’s understandably confused when he sees Monsieur Bonacieux kiss Constance on the lips, and nothing more, he doesn’t think much of it; wasn’t his place. The second time he sees it, this time with his Masters (he comes upon them in the hall, Master Athos had Master Aramis pressed against the wall; lips and a bit of tongue pressed against each other in obvious enjoyment. D’Artagnan stands there watching for a long time before he is noticed and startles his Masters), he remains curious. 

He asked Porthos (not in words, but Porthos understood all the same) why his Masters did such a thing, but he didn’t know, the larger Slave (after a little bit of hesitation) decided to ask his Masters.

“Um….” Aramis says after Porthos asked his question, beside him, Athos looks uncomfortable, his cheeks red.

Both Porthos and D’Artagnan wait patiently.

“That is an….interesting question” Aramis finally says, scratching the back of his head, “does it have anything to do with what happened in the hall the other day?”

Both D’Artagnan and Porthos nod, Athos makes a strangled noise in the back of his throat.

“Well” Aramis says after moment, “kissing on the mouth is something two people do because it feels good, and because they like each other.

D’Artagnan blinks

_Oh._

The Musketeers watch as D’Artagnan tugs on Porthos’s shirt, Porthos turns his attention to the smaller Slave, standing on his toes, D’Artagnan leans forward and waits expectedly.  Porthos leans down and kisses the younger on the lips. When the larger man pulls back he looks at D’Artagnan, waiting, the younger Slave has a thoughtful look on his face, before he gives a tiny barely there smile and press his lips against Porthos’s.

Athos isn’t sure why, it was no secret that the two were physically affectionate with each other and didn’t care if they’re Masters saw them being so (well now anyway), but the man felt that he and Aramis shouldn’t be watching this. Especially when Porthos pulls back, presses his forehead against D’Artagnan, and the two stare at each other as though there was no one else but them.

Athos was sure there wasn’t.

**11 Years Ago**

Constance and Athos meet when the not yet Musketeer stumbles through the wrong door of the wrong house and gets hit with a frying pan.

Athos wakes up in a strange bed, his head pounding and bruised, he barley makes it out the bed when a lovely young woman enters. The two stare at each other for a moment in surprise before he is ushered back in the bed, his complaints ignored.  He spends most of the day in the strange bed listening as the one called Constance  treats his wound and  scolds him for his reckless drinking at the same time. 

Monsieur Bonacieux is not amused when he comes home to a strange man in his home, he is amused when his wife tells him she hit Athos with her frying pan.

It’s the start of a wonderful friendship.

**Present**

Their Masters had to leave for a few days, Porthos and D’Artagnan are going to stay at the Bonacieux resident until they returned.

Neither Porthos nor D’Artagnan are happy about it, and aren’t sure why, just the thought of not being with their Masters for a few days was…upsetting.

“We’ll be back as quickly as possible” Aramis reassures at dinner on the night before they were to leave, apparently he had sensed the two uneasiness.

That night, in their nest, D’Artagnan clings tightly to Porthos, listening as the large Slaves reads from one of new books given to him by Master Aramis

Morning saw the two Slaves standing in the kitchen of their temporary lodgings while Master Aramis and Master Athos spoke with Monsieur Bonacieux and Constance, explaining what to do while they were away and thanking them for looking after their housemates.

“Alright, I think everything’s in order” Aramis says before going over to D’Artagnan and Porthos.

Their Master looks like he wants to do or say something to them, but instead he just smiles at them and turns around to leave with Athos. They make it after way through the kitchen doorway, when Athos stops short and looks over his shoulder.

He blinks at the hand that had grabbed hold of his sleeve.

The kitchen is frozen in surprise, even D’Artagnan looks surprised at his actions.

Slowly, Athos turns around, the young Slave doesn’t move nor does he drop his hand. Athos stares down at the other, before bring his hand up, the Musketeers pauses when D’Artagnan flinches and Porthos tenses in the background.  Carefully he cups the back of D’Artagnan’s head and waits.

Hesitantly, D’Artagnan looks up at him, and watches as a not quiet smile appears on his Master’s face.

“It’ll be alright” Athos says, voice soft, it makes the young Slave feel warm, “we’ll be back, promise”.

D’Artagnan believes him.

**7 Years Ago**

D’Artagnan has survived three winters, according to Labarge and Bonnaire, when a man wants to buy him.

The man has the skin of the wealthy, a cruelness in the air around him, and dark eyes that linger with lust on D’Artagnan.

It is the first time Porthos ever felt the desire to kill.

“He comes in a pair” says Bonnaire, his business smile in place.

They were in an underground market place, Bonnaire calls it the Black Market.

They were on display, lined up in a single row; many potential owners had looked, touched and probed. Porthos endured it as usual, those who came too close to D’Artagnan were glared and snarled at until they went away or turned their attention to another. Much to Bonnaire’s amusement, Porthos had a feeling the amusement was because the Slave Master’s purse got heavier regardless of Porthos’s behavior.

Then the man came.

“A pair you say?” says the man head tilted.

Bonnaire nods, and sweeps a hand over at Porthos, “A beauty isn’t he? Won every fight he’s ever been in, good field worker, as well as in the bed if you’re in that sort of way”

The man comes closer to Porthos, Porthos lets himself to be looked, touched, and probed, tries to display the qualities Bonnaire said. Tries to get the man interested, to buy him.

D’Artagnan was **_his_**.

His to protect from the man with the cruel air.

“Impressive indeed, but not what I want. I want the boy”

Porthos ‘s whole body goes rigid,  D’Artagnan shuffles closer to the bigger slave, Bonnaire’s smiles slips and worry fills his eyes. This could go bad, no this **_will_** go bad, he learned long ago that D’Artagnan and Porthos were a pair. Anything that got in the way of that would feel Porthos’s wrath, the Slave Master had seen it once and once was enough, to be honest he wasn’t sure why he cares. He could just say yes, and put down Porthos when the Slave will undoubtedly go into a rage, perhaps Labarge is right; he’s getting attached.

“Perhaps we can work something out” Bonnaire bargains, eyes glances at Porthos, only once though.

“There is nothing to work out; I want the boy or no deal”

Bonnaire looks at Porthos, then back at the man, “I will up the price, since you want only the one”

“Money is no problem”

Bonnaire hesitant.

“Well then?”

Bonnaire sighs and nods.

The man smiles, the two discuss the price, Porthos watches, body as still as stone, eyes dark and raging like a storm. Money is exchanged, the man goes over to D’Artagnan, chains are unlatched and the child is lead away from Porthos.

Porthos breaks his chains.

  **Present**

D’Artagnan wakes up alone in the nest of sheets and pillows, yawning he sits up and looks around for Porthos, he doesn’t see the older Slave; but the sound of his Porthos’s deep voice stumbling over words coming from below told him that he was in the kitchen reading with Master Aramis. Pleased that Porthos was near, D’Artagnan begins to settle back down in the nest when he hears a loud thud.

It didn’t come from downstairs.

Surprised at the feeling of wanting to know, D’Artagnan remains frozen for a moment going over this new feeling, before finally getting up and going to find out what the sound was. He opens the door and peeks his head out the door. He doesn’t see anything, and just as he was deciding to go back to sleep, he hears the thud again. It came from down the hall.

In Master Athos’s room.

Nervous but surprisingly not afraid, D’Artagnan makes his way down the hall to the door, the door was cracked open. The young Slave pauses and glances over his shoulder, expecting Master Aramis or Porthos to appear and pull him away, when nothing happens D’Artagnan turns back to the door.

With nervous hands he pushes the door open enough for him to slip inside.

The room is dark save for one lit candle on a small table, D’Artagnan looks away from the table and glances around the room until he finds Master Athos slumped against the corner. With feeling that was similar to when Porthos was taken away, D’Artagnan makes his way over to the man.

At first Master Athos does nothing but stare blankly, a wine bottle clenched tightly in his hand, then he blinks up at D’Artagnan.

“D’Artagnan?” he says, blinking slowly at the Slave, voice slurred.

Not knowing what else to do, the Slave nods.

“Leave” Master Athos orders.

D’Artagnan doesn’t leave; instead he stares at his Master, mostly the man’s eyes. There was something in them that remained him of Porthos’s eyes when the older man came back from a fight, Bonnaire or Labarge.  A blank look that often had D’Artagnan clinging to Porthos with fear of the other Slave leaving him.

“Leave” Athos orders again, when the Slave doesn’t move.

D’Artagnan isn’t sure why, but he doesn’t like the look in his Master’s eyes, makes him want to cling to the man….so he does. First, the young Slave gathers all the sheets and pillows that are on Master Athos’s bed and arranges them around the man, creating a nest, Master Athos for his part merely doesn’t move though he does ask the Slave what he was doing and was ignored.

Satisfied, D’Artagnan crawls into the nest, he hesitates for a moment before curling up next to his Master. Master Athos is still, before a large warm hand comes up and pets his hair. It’s clumsy, but gentle, and makes D’Artagnan warm and eyes-heavy.

Porthos finds them like this, hours later.

**19 Years Ago**

(The other Slaves don’t talk to Porthos.)

Sometimes there are whispers in the dark, soft questions and answers, once even a laugh; though hallow.

(The other Slaves don’t talk to Porthos.)

Alone in his cell, Porthos listens to the whispers in the dark, waiting; always waiting.

(The other Slaves don’t talk to Porthos)

**Present**

Constance takes them with her to the Market, whether to buy or to sell, at first both Slaves are weary; having remembered the last time they went to the Market. Quickly weary leaves them, and is replaced by what later they will be able to place as excitement and enjoyment.  Constance enjoys their company, especially since Porthos kept the flirtatious men and Red Guards away (It also warmed Monsieur Bonacieux up to them, their Masters are just happy they are getting out the house).

Today Constance was selling; Porthos kept close while D’Artagnan helped Constance, despite being here numerous times he still gets odd looks. Ignoring the looks, Porthos glances around the market, takes in the sights and sounds. It crowded today, uneasily so.

“Stop her!”

Porthos looks to where the commotion is, he sees a woman running through the crowd, chasing her are two Red Guards. With narrowed eyes the Slave watches as the guards’ corners the woman, D’Artagnan blinks when Porthos goes over.

“Oh dear” Constance says, voice laced with amusement and slight exasperation. 

After the Incident, the Red Guards and Porthos did not get along, it didn’t help that Aramis and Athos were amused by it, Constance was sure. It also didn’t help that Porthos was not afraid to get into a fight with them if he saw an opportunity to do it and get away with it, Constance had a feeling that there was something behind it.

 _“I’ll talk to Athos and Aramis about it”_ she thinks, watching Porthos, _“before this gets out of hand”._

The woman’s eyes widen when Porthos looms over the guards, eyes going wider when the big male grabs one of them and throws him aside, the second guard stumbles back at the sight of Porthos. Porthos merely looks at him, the guard gulps and scurries off. When the Slave turns back, the woman is gone. Blinking Porthos looks around the gathered crowd, and sees a flicker of hair disappear in an alley.

He follows.

“That was impressive”

Porthos turns around, there is the woman. Dressed in rags with wild blonde hair, her twinkling blue eyes looked over him curiosity.

“Never seen a Red Guards fly like that” the woman giggles.

Master Aramis said the same thing.

“Can you talk? Or are you just simple?”

Porthos glares, he’s heard that word often enough from Labarge and Bonnaire to know it for the insult that it was.

“Who’s your friend?”

The presence that he sensed the moment he entered the back alley emerges from the shadows, and places it’s self-next to the woman, the presence is a man, skin and eyes the same as his, he is also dressed in rags.

“Not sure” shrugs the woman, “he helped me get away from the Red Guards, though I think he’s simple”

“Not”

Both man and woman look at him.

“Not” Porthos says again.

“Not what?” asks the woman

“Not simple”

“Then what are you?”

“Porthos”

“Just Porthos?”

Porthos nods.

“Well, just Porthos, I’m Flea, and this is Charon”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just two or three more chapters to go, and maybe a sequel, who knows. 
> 
> Comments are welcomed!


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry that this is late! Please excuse any errors made as this is not Beta.

  

“Hello Musketeer, can Porthos come out and play?”

Athos stares at the smiling man and woman; he recognized them as the two thieves that both the Red Guards and Musketeers (though they didn’t put much effort into it like the Red Guards) could never catch, the same thieves who were asking if his new roommate could come out and play. He decides it’s too early for this and calls for Porthos before going to the kitchen for wine, the man and woman let themselves in and followed.

“Wine?” he offers.

“It’s a bit early for it, don’t you think?” the woman says

Athos grunts, and takes a sip, he looks at the two when there is a startled shriek and curse, already knowing what happened.

“Don’t you make any noise?” the man grumbles, beside him the woman has her hand on her no doubt racing chest.

“He can, but never does” Athos answered, “Aramis thinks he does it on purpose”

Porthos’s lips twitch, from behind him D’Artagnan peeks before hiding.

“Who’s this then?” the woman says.

She tries to go behind Porthos to get a better look only for her to be blocked and snarled at.

“Porthos is very protective of him” says Athos to the startled woman, not at all sympathetic after having his usual quiet morning disturbed, “I’d proceed with caution”

“Oh, we have guests” says Aramis as he entered the kitchen.

The thieves were called Flea and Charon, they met Porthos after the Slave had helped Flea get away from some Red Guards; for some reason Flea and Charon had taken an interest in Porthos. Athos and Aramis were not surprised that the two knew where Porthos stayed.

“This is not a good idea” Athos whispers to Aramis.

“Oh come now” Aramis whispers back, “it’s not that bad”

Athos gives him a look and both turn to the subjects of their conversation

All of them had moved into the living quarters of the house, currently Charon was teaching Porthos the game of cards….along with how to cheat and not get caught. Flea, after much coaxing, was teaching D’Artagnan how to pick-pocket.

“Okay” Aramis then says looking back at his lover, “maybe it is kind of bad”

Athos snorts and takes a drink from his cup, the man debts what to do, on one hand; he was glad that Porthos and D’Artagnan were making friends with people other than himself, Aramis, Constance; and Bonacieux. On the other hand, he rather the two made friends with people who wouldn’t get the two arrested on association alone; that didn’t mean he thought those who resided in the Court of Miracles were bad and dishonorable; he knew through experience that this was not true.

“I suppose we’ll just have to keep an eye on them” Athos then says.

Aramis nods, lips twitching when D’Artagnan picks Charon’s pocket without the man knowing.

“A **_really_** close eye”

**8 Years Ago**

Neither D’Artagnan nor Porthos could put a name to what was between them, all either of them knew was that D’Artagnan was Porthos’s, and D’Artagnan liked being Porthos’s. Like the warmth that came when Porthos held him in his arms, liked the press of lips to his skin, the gentle touch; the unnamed feeling that the young Slave once knew and sometimes dreamed about. Likewise, Porthos liked that D’Artagnan was his. Liked how the younger fits in his arms, likes how D’Artagnan lets him do whatever and is not afraid, likes that the younger stills smells like the earth.

**Present**

It’s only when he losses count of how many nights he’s enter Master Athos’s room and curled up in the man’s lap, does D’Artagnan finally names the odd warmth he gets when around his Masters.

He likes his Master, both Athos and Aramis. Likes Master Athos’s warm hands that sometimes pets his hair, likes Master Aramis’s smile that promised good things, he likes that their Masters don’t get angry with him or Porthos.

He likes his Masters.

“I like them too” Porthos says that night, when D’Artagnan tells him about his new discovery.

D’Artagnan smiles, and cuddles close to the man. Porthos makes a happy noise that rumbles from his chest and wraps his arms around the younger.

“You want to tell them?” the older Slave then asks, when D’Artagnan caresses his lips with his fingers.

D’Artagnan nods, yawning as sleep finally descends on him.

“Okay”

Porthos then curls around the younger and follows D’Artagnan into sleep.

The next morning Porthos watches as Athos and Aramis say goodbye to D’Artagnan before leaving for the Garrison, shuffles closer when D’Artagnan tugs on Athos’s shirt until the man kneels down.

“Something wrong?” Athos asks.

D’Artagnan looks at him for a moment, before he leans forward and kisses him on the lips.

Silence falls over them, D’Artagnan looks over his shoulder at Porthos, eyes glimmer with rising fear. Porthos comes closer; gently takes hold of the younger’s arm and waits.

“Erm, well—that’s—uh” Aramis stutters, “Porthos” he then blurts out, “please explain this”

Porthos tilts his head.

“Why did D’Artagnan kiss Athos like that?” Aramis clarifies.

Athos was still in the kneeling position, expression alarmingly blank.

“We like you” Porthos answers, “you and Master Athos”

“Well that’s ni— ** _Master_** Athos?!”

D’Artagnan jumps at the raised voice and scurries behind Porthos, Porthos tenses. Athos blinks, looks at Aramis before the words dawn on him and his pales.

“Oh no D’Artagnan” Aramis quickly soothes, “I’m not angry, not angry, just surprised”  

Porthos stares at him before he nods and steps aside, Aramis smiles at down at D’Artagnan who was no longer afraid but still a bit nervous.

“M-Master” Athos murmurs to himself before then looking at the two, “you think we’re your Masters”

Porthos nods, brows scrunched in confusion at why the man sounded upset about it.

Athos made a strained noise, while Aramis scratched at his beard nervously.

“Oh boy”

They were late for morning roll call.

**7 Years Ago**

It’s a day after the incident in the market, when Porthos and D’Artagnan are taken out of their cell and brought to the Room.

The Room was used for the most unruly Slaves…or if Master Labarge was in a mood.

Porthos had been in this room numerous times, his arms had endured the strain of being dangling by chains for many days, endured whippings and beatings.

D’Artagnan has never been in this room.

“Heard about your little stunt the other day” Labarge said after the metal door had closed.

Porthos says nothing.

Labarge smirks, before turning to the two men, “Chain him up” the Slave Master says, tilting his head to the wall, before grabbing D’Artagnan.

Porthos’s eyes widen in realization, and he resists as he’s dragged away from the younger Slave, one of Labarge’s men is punched in the struggle, in the end he is chained. He watches as D’Artagnan is hung in the middle of the room then is wet down.

“Let’s see if I can make you scream” Labarge says as he gleefully before he swings the cane.

D’Artagnan screams.

It’s the last time.

**Present**

After the kissing incident, Athos and Aramis discovered that Porthos and D’Artagnan saw them as Masters, and while it made them uncomfortable to be thought of in such a way; the men knew it wouldn’t do to try in arguing or convincing Porthos and D’Artagnan otherwise.

So the title of Master stays for now.

Another thing that stays is the kissing.

Not only did they not have the heart to tell them to stop, especially after discovering it was the only way the two knew how to express how much they liked their Masters, but Athos and Aramis weren’t uncomfortable about the display of affection as they thought they would be. Especially since the kissing was on the lips, perhaps it’s because D’Artagnan and Porthos are the ones who incite it or maybe it’s because the kissing is innocent in nature.

What’s odder is that neither Musketeer feels jealous or possessive of the sight of their lover being kissed by another. Though the made sure to explain that such display of affectionate in public was not allowed, it was the only order the two have given.

**8 Years Ago**

D’Artagnan’s cock does not get hard.

He knows that Porthos’s cock can get hard, the guards and their Masters’ cocks also get hard.

His does not.

It doesn’t accord to the Slave that something is not right about it.

**Present**

They were kissing when it happened, not the usual kissing that they gave each other and their masters, this one was wetter, involving tongue and was a lot more pleasant. D’Artagnan had been curious after watching (and startling) his masters doing so a couple of times, and had approached Porthos to ask if they could do it. Porthos, who often was on the receiving of such a kiss by Bonnaire, agreed to it and found he enjoyed it more with D’Artagnan then his former master.

Then it happened.

D’Artagnan was hard.

Both of them stared blankly at the tented trousers, this never happened before, and they didn’t know what to do with it. Well, they did, but it wasn’t something they were inclined to.

They didn’t want the pain that came with it.

Kissing D’Artagnan’s forehead, Porthos thinks about what to do, he would let D’Artagnan fuck him regardless of it hurting; but knew the younger wouldn’t because he doesn’t want to hurt Porthos. In his lap, D’Artagnan shifts uncomfortably, Porthos kisses his forehead again and an idea comes to him.

“We’ll ask our Masters” he says.

D’Artagnan blinks at him, “They’ve fuck, and it doesn’t seem like it hurts” Porthos explains, he had seen them fuck only once, his Masters did not know he had slipped into the room and watched with memorized eyes. “Maybe they can show us how not to make it hurt”

Eyes widening in understanding, D’Artagnan nods, he slides off the bigger Slave’s lap and stands; when Porthos gets on his feet he takes D’Artagnan’s hand and they make their way to Master Aramis’s room. Both of their Masters were there.

They were fucking.

“Dear Lord!”

Athos grunts as he pushed off the bed and onto the ground, he blinks up at the ceiling in surprised silence before turning his head to look at Porthos and D’Artagnan standing in the middle of the room.

“I-Is something wrong?” says Aramis with a sudden shyness as he pulled the sheet over his lap.

Athos was still sprawled on the floor.

Porthos tilts his head, then speaks, “D’Artagnan is hard”.

Aramis blinks, Athos’s brow furrowed, after a moment he sits up and looks at the youngest in the room. D’Artagnan was looking down at his tented trousers with a bewildered expression.

“…Oh” Aramis said after a moment, “um, that’s good?”

Athos moves from the floor back to the bed, he’s still naked and half-hard, and after a brief tug-of-war, had his lap covered with some of the sheet.

“How do we make it not hurt?”

Both Musketeers work over the words, find that they couldn’t fully understand, and after sharing a brief glance, Athos speaks, “Perhaps you should explain, what do you mean about hurting?”

Porthos takes a moment to figure out what his Master meant, and then he explains what he and D’Artagnan went through with their previous Masters. When he’s done, Athos and Aramis have on expression that neither Slaves can place, and makes them slightly wary. Then Aramis leans over to Athos and whispers in his ear, Athos gives Aramis a look before nodding.

“Alright then, Porthos, D’Artagnan, undress and come sit here” said Aramis, moving closer to Athos and patting the empty space, “we’ll show you”

Both Slaves wonders what it meant that they felt no fear as they undressed and climbed into the bed, there was some shifting about until Aramis was settled in between Athos’s legs, and the two Slaves mirroring their actions with D’Artagnan settled comfortably between Porthos’s legs both of them facing their Masters. Though the sheet still covered, and both Slaves could see Aramis’s tented cock, Porthos is surprised at the desire to touch it.

“Alright” Aramis said after taking a deep breathe, “here”

Porthos takes the jar handed to him, inside is something thick and smelled nothing like what his previous Masters used.

“Use that to get your hand wet Porthos” Aramis ordered softly, “now firmly but gently wrap your fingers around D’Artagnan”

Porthos does as ordered, wrapping his fingers around D’Artagnan’s now half-hard cock,

“Good, now move your fist up and down, slowly”

Porthos goes slowly, and D’Artagnan’s breathe hitched, the bigger Slave stops worried that he hurt him. D’Artagnan makes a soft whining sound, it’s a new sound.

It makes something in him warm and his cock twitch.

D’Artagnan makes that sound again, then with slightly hesitated hands touches the fingers around his cock and squeezes once then drops his hand. Porthos moves again.

“Good” Aramis said in approval, “now tighten your hold a little and move a little faster”

Porthos does and D’Artagnan gasps softly, hips twitching, Master Aramis keeps up his instructions, telling Porthos to slow down, go faster, to scrape his nail against the rapidly leaking head; to squeeze just a little harder. Mixed in with those instructions were praises that made the older Slave feel **_something_** , while D’Artagnan quiet noises and twitching hips made him hard and leaking.

“Yes, just like that”

The hitching in his Master’s voice had Porthos looking up from his moving hand to the man, Master Aramis had his head tilted back, panting and murmuring words of pleasure with finger curled up in thick hair, Master Athos was sucking on Aramis’s bare shoulder, while one of his hands had disappeared underneath sheet and the rapid movements under there told Porthos what the man was doing.

Porthos’s throat suddenly felt very dry.

Suddenly D’Artagnan arched, made a surprised sound and he was spilling over Porthos’s hand, across from them, Master Aramis moaned; tilted his head further back, Master Athos bites at the displayed skin. Vaguely the big Slave is aware of D’Artagnan slumping against him, eyes still locked onto his Masters.

Finally, Master Aramis slumped back against Master Athos, panting slightly with a dazed expression; Porthos glanced down and sees the same expression on D’Artagnan’s, before looking back up at his Masters. They were kissing now, opened mouth and somewhat dirty looking.

Porthos kisses the top of D’Artagnan’s head.

Something slightly cold and wet touches his hard cock, Porthos looks down to see D’Artagnan’s small wet hands wrap around it, his hold is firm and movements slowly, when he goes faster Porthos moans. Thumbs brushing over his leaking head made him gasp and hips twitch. A firmer hold and more fast movements makes him a little louder.

“Someone is a fast learner”

The Slave looks up from the moving hands to his Masters, and finds both of them watching.

Porthos spills.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments are welcomed!


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nope, I haven't forgotten this story. :)

“We shouldn’t have done that.”

Aramis rolled his eyes, and looked at the man walking beside him, on his face was an unreadable expression.

“It was only for one night Athos, and we didn’t touch them.” said Aramis.

Athos sighed, that was true, and he knew his guilt was not over the fact that he had watched and spilled over Porthos and D’Artagnan pleasuring each other; but because he _kept_ thinking about it. Thought about wanting _more_ , what was worse was that he knew D’Artagnan and Porthos would let him.

“They asked for our help,” Aramis continued when he saw the complicated expression on the other man’s face, “they **_asked_** us Athos, **_wanted_** our help.”

And that was also true, one thing that was clear was that Porthos, and by default D’Artagnan; were very forward about what they wanted. It was something that both Athos and Aramis had noticed, but only because they were watching. D’Artagnan and Porthos were not afraid of telling their Masters what they wanted…at least not anymore. They still feared consequences, but that was becoming less and less as the two Slaves realized that neither Musketeer would do them no harm.

“We did them no harm Athos.” Aramis said softly.

Athos sighed, and nodded just as their house came into view, the two entered. D’Artagnan and Porthos were nowhere in sight, most likely in their room. Athos goes into the kitchen to place their purchases down while Aramis went to the Slaves’ room to check up on them.

The door was opened, and upon entering, Aramis understood his lover’s worries. D’Artagnan was as usually in Porthos’s lap listening to the older Slave read from the new book Aramis had gotten him, it was such a simple and ** _innocent_** thing. In fact, in a way both Slave were innocent, especially D’Artagnan.

 _“Now I’m starting to feel guilty,”_ Aramis thought as he knocked on the door to announce his presence, “we’re back.” he said.

When Porthos and D’Artagnan’s eyes lit up upon seeing him, the guilt grew a little.

**_~.~_ **

Porthos and D’Artagnan knew where the Garrison was, having been shown the entrance by their Masters and Constance; however they’ve never been inside.

Until today that is.

It was Constance’s idea, the woman claiming that it only made sense that the Musketeers knew what Porthos and D’Artagnan looked like in case anything happened, and neither she, her husband or Captain Treville were around. Both Musketeers thought it a good idea, and were a bit embarrassed at not realizing it sooner. That being said, it still didn’t stop their worry about how today’s event’s would unfold. Their fellow brothers knew about Aramis and Athos taking in the Slaves, so it wasn’t really a surprise to them or too much of a problem. No, the problem would be how Porthos and D’Artagnan would react.

“You’re worrying too much.” Treville said as he, Aramis and Athos watched the two Slaves from the balcony.

The Captain had called them up, before mumbling about the two hovering like fretting mothers. Both Porthos and D’Artagnan had looked alarmed, but were reassured by their Masters that they would be right back, and to wait. That waiting spot was at the table by the stairs, a spot Athos and Aramis always occupied.

“Can’t help it,” Aramis shrugged.

“A lot could go wrong,” Athos pointed out.

Treville had to agree, a lot could go wrong, but if his two men wanted to help Porthos and D’Artagnan, then they were going have to start learning when to fret, and when not to.

“Ah.”

The Captain blinked, then followed his two men’s gaze, one of his Musketeers; Alexander. Was coming up to Porthos and D’Artagnan, the two Slaves had been watching two other Musketeers practicing their dueling. Upon hearing Alexander’s approaching, Porthos looked at him. Alexander for his part, stopped slightly startled, and nervous at the sudden attention; before continuing on. Treville noticed how Porthos had slide D’Artagnan closer to him.

“Hello,” said Alexander.

Porthos blinked.

“You’re Porthos, yes?”

Porthos nodded.

“I’m Alexander,” the Musketeer said, and held out his hand.

Porthos stared at it, and then looked back up at the man; Alexander it seemed wasn’t offended by it.

“I saw you in the market, some time ago, you were fighting against the Red Guards.” The man continued on, “I just wanted to say that was very impressive, I’ve never seen anything like it.”

Porthos blinked, this time he looked startled, and somewhat confused. At his side, D’Artagnan tilted his head.

“Perhaps we could spare together sometime.”

“Think that’s a good idea?” Aramis asked.

“Depends on who you’re afraid will get hurt.” Athos answered.

Porthos doesn’t spare with Alexander or anyone, but it doesn’t stop the small spark of interest in dark eyes.

**_~.~_ **

“Hello Musketeer, can Porthos and D’Artagnan come out, and play?”

“Why do insist on coming so early in the morning?” Athos grumbled at the two grinning thieves.

“Because it makes you do an interesting eye twitch.” Flea smiled.

“I will close this door in your face, lady or not.”

“We’ll just come through the window”

They’ve done it before.

“Flea, Charon.”

Now use to Porthos silent feet, neither of the three even jumped at the man’s voice.

“Good morning Porthos.” Flea said.

“Where’s D’Artagnan?” asked Charon, “oh, there you are.”

From where he was peeking from behind Porthos, D’Artagnan’s lips nearly curled into a smile.

“And what is schedule for today’s adventures?” Athos asked as he waved D’Artagnan over so he could smooth down the Slave’s hair, eyes warming when the boy gave a small pleased sound.

“Thought we put all that training to use,” Flea answered, grinning at the look Athos gives her, “just cards today, see how many Red Guards we can take money from.”

Athos had very mixed feelings about that, especially when they returned late afternoon, pockets heavier and Porthos’s eyes bright with excitement.

**_~.~_ **

Sometimes, Porthos and D’Artagnan would look at them with curios expressions, the two Musketeers always wanted to ask; but always stopped short.

Instead, they waited, waited for the two to come to them.

**_~.~_ **

Honestly, Athos and Aramis expected it would take more time before Alexander finally convinced Porthos to spare with him.

The two are not sure if it’s progress, or not.

 _“No less entertaining though.”_ Athos thought as he and he fellow Musketeers watched Alexander go flying through the air for a third time. Around him, the Musketeers cheered for Porthos’s victory.

Porthos had gone to where Alexander had landed on the ground, he stared down at the man who laid there dazed, the Slave tilted his head, before; to Athos’s surprise. Held out his hand, Alexander blinked at it before taking hold. The Musketeer was lifted into his feet effortlessly, and he smiled at the big Slave.

“Good sparing,” he said, “I think that’s it for me, if I go another round, don’t think I’ll get back up.”

Porthos blinked at him, before making his way to the stables where Aramis had taken D’Artagnan after the younger’s eyes had lit upon seeing two horses being lead in, Alexander chuckled, and made his way over to Athos.

“Had fun?” asked Athos.

“Perhaps too much,” Alexander rubbed his shoulders, “I most certainly will be sore tomorrow.”

Athos’s lips twitched, honestly he had been worried when Porthos had agreed to the sparing, but had relented when before agreeing; Porthos had looked at Athos as though to make sure it was okay, something called hope and excitement in the Slave’s eyes.

Athos had said yes, and prayed that both walked away with bones intact at the very least.

“He has a very interesting style,” Alexander continued on “and very mild aggression considering where he’s been.”

Athos nodded, he had also noticed that, the man wondered if it was because Porthos realized that he wasn’t fighting for his life.

It was a nice thought.

**_~.~_ **

“I think we should be concerned about our lack of surprise at this point.”

Athos’s lips twitched before he turned his attention to the two that had obviously entered the room at some point while he and Aramis had been having sex. As usual, neither of them seemed concerned about walking in on such a private matter, and had been patiently waiting for them to finish, when Aramis had finally noticed them.

“Do you need something?” Athos asked.

On top of him, Aramis carefully worked his lover’s now soft cock out of him before rolling off.

“We” Porthos began, “are…..we want to know.”

“About what?” Aramis asked as he wondered if there was any point in covering up.

Porthos paused to find his words, “How to make everything not hurt.”

It was obvious what they meant, and the curious expression they often saw aimed in their direction now made more sense.

“Ah.” said Aramis as he and Athos traded looks.

That night should have been a onetime thing, yet here they were again. This time being asked for more.

“Athos?”

Athos looked at his lover, then back at the other two who were waiting. He weighed the pros and cons, and honestly the cons outweighed the pros. Yet, that didn’t stop him from nodding, ordering that clothes be removed, and waited for the two Slaves to get into the bed while ignoring his lover’s slightly surprised look.

“We’ll go slow,” Athos said to the two, “and if you at some point you don’t like anything, or are in pain; you tell us. Understand?”

Both look very surprised at the order, but nod. Once he got the conformation, Athos turned to Aramis to take the lead.

“Right then,” Aramis said getting right to it, “let’s see, mmm, ah!”

Aramis snatched all the pillows, including the one from underneath Athos’s head, and plopped them up against the wall before leaning back against them. “D’Artagnan, here.” he motioned for the space between his spread legs.

There is a nervousness, which was much better than fear in the two Musketeer’s opinion, and it’s after D’Artagnan looked at Porthos and got a nod; does the youngest go over, and sit in the space. He is obedient as Aramis moved him onto his knees, facing his Master

“That’s a good lad,” Aramis praised, “would you like a kiss?”

D’Artagnan’s eyes lit up, and he nodded, chuckling at the eagerness. Aramis very slowly raised his hand to cup a cheek, then pressed his lips against the boy’s. D’Artagnan made a soft noise of pleasure that quickly turned into a little moan when his Master’s tongue gently slipped through his lips. D’Artagnan whimpered when his Master pulled away, and leaned in for more, chuckling at the subconsciously bold movement; Aramis gave the lad a peck on the lips, before turning D’Artagnan around until they were sitting back to front, and calling Porthos over.

“Here,” the Musketeer said, “now you.”

Porthos came over, and does, kissing D’Artagnan, slipping his tongue through willing lips. When they pulled away, D’Artagnan is panting, and flushed. Aramis murmured his approval, before lowering his head to lick at curve of the boy’s neck, Porthos watched as the lick turned into a suck that startled D’Artagnan a bit before it quickly turned into a happy sound, young cock twitching. After watching, he lowered his own head to lick, and suck at the curve on the other side.

“Go lower.” Aramis said when he pulled away with a last suck, his soft cock that had twitched upon watching the two kissed, started to thicken when Porthos does; licking and sucking skin without prompting. “You can bite a little if you want.”

From where he was sucking on the boy’s collarbone, Porthos stopped, and looked at him.

“Perhaps another time.” Aramis smiled, before he gently circled a finger around a dark nipple, watching D’Artagnan’s reaction. The boy was squirming, though he wasn’t sure if it was because of the way Porthos had gone back to sucking and licking at his neck, or because of him.

“Don’t like it?” he asked the boy.

D’Artagnan shook his head. Still not sure, Aramis rolled the now hard bud between his fingers, and D’Artagnan gave a low moan. Smiling, the Musketeer turned his attention to Porthos, “Porthos, lick here/” he said pointing to the other nipple.

The big Slave’s expression is curious, but does it, licking at the hard bud and D’Artagnan gasped. “Suckle.” his Master then said.

Porthos does, and D’Artagnan mewled.

“A little harder.”

He does, and D’Artagnan arched into his mouth.

“His chest is sensitive, like yours.” Aramis said, grinning at his lover who was watching.

Athos looked away to give the man a look, Aramis noticed he was half-hard. D’Artagnan whining turned their attention back to the two, Aramis chuckling when D’Artagnan pulled Porthos back to his chest when the bigger Slave had stopped and pulled away. Porthos didn’t seem to mind, taking the other nipple into his mouth now that his Master’s finger was no longer there. After a thoughtful moment, Aramis reached down, and took hold of D’Artagnan’s hard and leaking cock, he paused when D’Artagnan made a noise between a moan and being startled, and Porthos, upon noticing it. Stopped and looked down at where Aramis’s hand was. The Slave blinked then went back to suckling. Reassured, Aramis moved his hand.

D’Artagnan moaned, hips twitching into the hand that was moving and brushing at his head, that odd familiar tight sensation from before; building up in him. And when it burst, and like last time, it was the most surprising and amazing feeling ever.

“Good job.” Aramis praised Porthos, the Slave pulling away when D’Artagnan went limp against the Musketeer and slightly trembling,

While Aramis ran his fingers through D’Artagnan’s hair with his clean hand while making soothing noises, Athos moved closer to Porthos who had been watching, ignoring his now hard cock. The bigger Slave’s cock was also hard, and leaking.

“Porthos.” he said indicating the other to move closer to him.

Porthos does, and continuing to ignore the small negative voice in his head, Athos slowly moved forward, and after making sure it was okay. Kissed the Slave, at first Porthos was compliance, willingly opening his mouth for his Master’s tongue. Until, apparently finding his courage, timidly started kissing back. Athos made a pleased sound as he pulled in, and suckled Porthos’s tongue, which surprised the other; but he didn’t pull away. He slid his hand down the strong body, stopping to rub and gently tug at a nipple. Porthos squirmed a bit, Athos rubbed at the harden bud one last time before going lower until his hand was wrapping around the impressive cock.

Porthos moaned when his Master’s thumb rubbed against his head, the thumb did it again before the whole hand went down then up with a firm grip. Athos pulled away, and kissed along the other’s jaw, and down to his neck. Porthos found himself tilting his head slightly for his Master, his own hand slide through the thick chest hair, stopping to play with a nipple that had Athos moaning and sucking a little harder against his skin.

Porthos found he liked it.

The Slave moved his hand lower until he was wrapping his hand around Athos’s cock, it wasn’t a thick as his own, but it was long and he found, unlike with his previous Masters; he liked how it felt in his hand. With the knowledge he was taught by Master Aramis, Porthos moved his hand up in down, rubbing against the leaky head. Athos, was startled at first when he felt Porthos touch his cock, which quickly gave way to pleasure, and he moved his hand faster.

“Look like Porthos is enjoying himself.” Aramis said quietly to D’Artagnan as the two watched, lips twitching at the low moans and groans coming from the two, the smiling growing when he heard the low praises his lover gave the other.

Still a little dazed, D’Artagnan only nodded.

“Want to continue?” his Master then asked, rubbing a hand comfortably up and down the boy’s thigh.

D’Artagnan nodded.

Kissing a cheek, Aramis searched for the vail of oil that had been tossed along the bed earlier, he found it just as Porthos came in Athos’s hand, the Musketeer spilling quickly with him. The Musketeer waited for both to come down from their high, before calling Porthos over.

“D’Artagnan wants to continue.”

Porthos nodded.

“D’Artagnan, I want you to lay on your stomach.”

To his and Athos’s surprise, D’Artagnan shook his head, looking a bit nervous.

“What’s wrong?” Athos asked, ready to stop everything.

“He wants to stay there.” Porthos explained.

“Oh,” Aramis said, “well that’s not a problem, just going to have to move around a bit.”

They moved around a bit, ending up with Aramis laying flat on his back with D’Artagnan laying on top of him, arse in the air. He spread the smaller Slave’s arse cheeks open, while Athos made Porthos’s fingers near dripping with oil.

“Rub one of your fingers against his hole.” Aramis instructed.

Porthos does so, rubbing his oily finger against the puckered hole, D’Artagnan didn’t move, in fact he felt tense; fingers curling against the man’s chest. Making soothing sound, he nudged the younger until he was able to draw him into a kiss. Jumping when Porthos pushed in the finger when Athos told him to.

“See, not so bad” Aramis chuckled when D’Artagnan pulled away, and wiggled a bit with a curious expression on his face.

“Just like that,” Athos praised as Porthos pushed the finger in and out, “alright, add another.” he then said when he saw how relaxed D’Artagnan was.

The younger Slave made a distress noise when the second finger was pushed in with the first, but other than that, didn’t move away, and even nodded when Aramis asked if he wanted to continue. Reassured, Porthos continued pushing, hesitating for a moment when he was instructed to add a third.

“I think he’s ready.” Athos said after a while, he studied Porthos’s expression before picking up the oil, he looked at Porthos’s cock. It half-hard, he looked back up at the Slave, Porthos was waiting for further instructions; he didn’t look distress or anything negative. So Athos continued, rubbing the cock until it was fully erect, inwardly pleased at the sounds of pleasure he drew from the other as he did so. He then poured the last of the oil, and rubbed everywhere on the hard flesh.

“Move a little closer.”

Porthos did so, D’Artagnan, who had taken over holding himself open when Aramis admitted to his hands getting tired, looked over his shoulder and watched as best he could as Master Athos guided the head of Porthos’s cock to his stretched hole.

“Relax,” Aramis murmured when he felt the younger tense, rubbing his hand up and down the small back, “it’ll hurt less if do so.”

“Push in slowly.” Athos said.

Both do as they’re told, and by the time Porthos is buried to the hilt, D’Artagnan has a look of surprise at the fact that it does ** _indeed_** hurt a lot less than before. Not only that, but he felt full, he’s never noticed that before.

“Alright?” Aramis asked.

D’Artagnan nodded, squeaking slightly when Porthos moved. It didn’t hurt, just surprised him.

It must have showed on his face because both Aramis, and Athos chuckled.

As he had been told, Porthos went slow, listening to the soft gasp of D’Artagnan who had gone limp on top of their Master who was kissing and murmuring words. Suddenly, D’Artagnan mewled loudly, and tightened around the bigger Slave’s cock and Porthos stopped.

“You found the good spot,” Aramis grinned, at both Slave’s surprised look, “go on, do it again.”

Porthos does.

D’Artagnan mewled again, hips pushing back slightly. Encouraged, Porthos kept going, quicken his pace when Athos said so. The walls tightening around him in a new way that felt amazing and like nothing he’s ever felt.

D’Artagnan liked it.

That made it even better.

Underneath the younger Slave, Aramis couldn’t take his eyes off the way eyes rolled back, and the way lips let out the most delicious of gasps, moans and mewls. Fingers digging into his skin, hard, wet cock, brushing against him every time Porthos thrust in. At some point he collapsed against Aramis, face buried in the man’s chest, muffling his sounds of pleasure. From where he was watching, Athos groaned and quicken the pace of his hand around his cock as he got close to cumming.

D’Artagnan came, white spurting on Aramis’s stomach before he went limp, spent. Lost in this new pleasure, Porthos kept going, frantic hips and thrust had D’Artagnan making breathless gasp, finally with one deep push in, he came. Spilling into D’Artagnan who shivered at the feeling, but not in a bad way.

“Heavy.” Aramis wheezed when Porthos collapsed on both him, and D’Artagnan.

D’Artagnan made a pleased sound, Porthos, after a moment pulled himself up, he then pulled out his soft cock.

“You did good,” Athos said when Porthos looked at him, he was soft, having spilled the same time as D’Artagnan “both of you.” he then said looking D’Artagnan.

The younger Slave made another noise before he began wiggling down Aramis’s body.

“And what are you do—oh.”

Just as Aramis debated on stopping D’Artagnan as the Slave settled between his legs, Porthos surprisingly kissed him. With his Master distracted, D’Artagnan took the hard cock into his mouth, usually he didn’t enjoy this. But this was different, the cock wasn’t being shoved down his throat nor was his hair being pulled. Instead Master’s Aramis’s hand was now just lying there, almost petting his hair. Making a pleased noise, D’Artagnan lowered his jaw, and took his Master in deeper, the same way Master Bonnaire liked.

Aramis moaned.

Apparently, so does Master Aramis.

Porthos watched, before turning his attention to Athos, his Master watching as D’Artagnan moved his head up and down with rapid interest. Realizing he was being watched, Athos looked at him, with a small smile the man beckoned Porthos closer. Porthos came over, and was surprised when he found himself settled between Athos’s spread legs and warm wrapped around him.

“Alright?” Master Athos asked.

Porthos nodded.

He was.

It felt….nice.

Across from them, Aramis cursed in his Native tongue as he came, D’Artagnan swallowed it all.

“He’s alright” Athos said to D’Artagnan, when the boy started to get worried when Aramis just laid there with a daze expression, “you just did a very good job. Now come over here, we’re done for the night.”

D’Artagnan came over, right into Porthos’s arms.

“…..Would you two like to stay with us for the rest of the night? Or do you want to go back to your room?”

Porthos looked at each other, then the older Slave looked at Athos.

“Can we?”

There was so **_much_** in those dark eyes, that it broke Athos’s heart, and made him so angry at the people who had done this to them He wanted to keep being angry, but he couldn’t. He was being watched, waiting for an answer.

So he answered, and found that he meant it with all of his being.

“Always.”

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos and comments is welcomed.


End file.
